One More Chance
by theicemenace
Summary: An AU of the events toward the end of 28 Weeks Later featuring the character of Sergeant Doyle. The rage virus has gotten loose again. Will Doyle be able to protect and defend a rag-tag group of survivors who have been given one more chance to live? Watch for Language and Violence.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is an AU from near the end of the movie _28 Weeks Later_ with Jeremy Renner's character Sergeant Doyle. Spoilers for _28 Days Later…_ and _28 Weeks Later_…

Thanks to ladygris for the Beta even though she hasn't seen either movie. BTW – both movies should be watched in full daylight from behind the sofa with pillows all around, your favorite "comforter" (man, dog, cat, child, bottle of wine) and a generous helping of chocolate. I'm just sayin'.

~Sandy

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 1**

"You're looking much better today, Sergeant. No fever. Blood pressure's good, and your wounds are healing nicely," Dr. Max Price said to the man lying on his stomach with only a sheet covering his nearly naked body. Bandages covered him from the back of his head to his lower back and the bicep of his right arm. Salve formed a thick layer on the reddened areas. Turning the soldier's head side to side, he checked pupil reaction, nodding in satisfaction. "Soon you'll be up and around. I just hope you don't hate me for saving your life."

On one of the lower levels of an abandoned hospital in a small town west of the now destroyed London, Max tended to his charge as best he could under the circumstances. Virology, microbiology and vaccinology were his specialties. Max had been a part of the medical team when the second outbreak of the rage virus spread through the city and had barely gotten out alive. Now, he had to fall back on memories of his ER rotation to help the injured.

Nightmares of their escape woke him every time he managed to catch a few winks. Being chased by the infected, soldiers shooting at anything that moved and some that didn't. Nearly being caught by the gas and the sweepers carrying flamethrowers. Much of that fear had to do with the man he'd managed to rescue. The air had carried the smell of burning flesh.

Their group numbered eleven. Max and the Sergeant were the only Americans, like most of the NATO sponsored Delta Force team. Lukas Göller spoke only German though he'd been taught a few words of English the last few days. The rest were UK citizens, most having been repatriated after spending the last six months in a refugee camp in Spain. Ruby was from Scotland.

The most severely injured was the soldier. Max recognized him as a member of the American-led NATO team that had been brought in to maintain order during the reoccupation of London, but hadn't known his name until now. Hadn't wanted to know his name. His was just another face in the crowd to Max and the other NATO doctors.

Max, Collin and Ruby found Doyle burned and unconscious, and had taken him along when they hid in the walk-in refrigerator of a Chinese restaurant. He'd been in terrible pain, but morphine all Max had to give him, and at such a high dose he'd be surprised if his patient remembered anything of their exodus from London.

Their plans included making their way across the North Sea to Dublin by ferry. Hopefully, they'd find out just how widespread this infection had become. Radio and television transmissions had stopped long ago. They received their news reports from HAM radio operators whom he deemed unreliable as none of them had first-hand knowledge of what NATO, WHO and the CDC were up to.

Doyle-Max had gotten his name one of the few times he'd been lucid-had been lucky his injuries weren't worse. His back had been protected somewhat by the vest and heavy material of the uniform that had to be cut off of him. First and second degree burns covered his shoulders, the back of his head and lower back with one spot of third degree on the bicep of his right arm and another on his right shoulder as if he'd turned to shield his left side.

Aside from the burns, a concussion, various scrapes and a couple of lacerations, he'd come through his ordeal in decent shape. It was due to the man's physical conditioning, a strong will to live…and a combination of morphine, sedatives and sleep aids Max used to keep him under so he wouldn't pull out the IV or try to leave…again. The dosages necessary to keep the soldier under assured that he would be addicted when Max finally brought him out of it, but there hadn't been another way to move him to their current location. Doyle had screamed in pain whenever he regained consciousness leaving Max to make the decision for him. When it came to being alive and hooked on drugs or dead from severe burns, killed by the rage infected or gas, Max hoped Doyle would choose life.

After spending two days hiding, Max, Collin, Ruby and Doyle joined with a group of making their way out of the city. Strangers who needed each other to survive. They carried Doyle, the only one not ambulatory, to a truck that Collin had worked on so that they could flee before the military decided to drop fire bombs. Traveling by day when the infected were hiding, they made it all the way to here to the largest hospital in the area. The small hope they had all harbored vanished in the rays of the morning sun when they found the place deserted, dead bodies everywhere.

Max and his band of brothers and sisters met up with more uninfected people and together they removed the bodies to a wing of the hospital that had been involved in an explosion. A storm put out the fire before it could spread, but the power had been knocked out to the rest of the building. Oscar and Murphy had scrounged generators from a sports equipment store along with as many weapons as they could carry.

Another group went out to search for food and fresh water. A third worked to get several large trucks working so they could make the trip to the coast in relative comfort. Max had heard rumors of two children who were immune to the virus, but were also carriers, and wondered what had become of them.

"Ungh…" Groaning came from Doyle, and Max rushed to administer more sedative into his IV. If Max had to keep upping the dosage as Doyle built up a tolerance, their supplies would be exhausted in a couple of weeks.

In addition to the pain meds and sedatives, Max also pumped Doyle full of antibiotics hoping to keep infection from setting in. The meds kicked in and Doyle went back to sleep while Max checked his wounds. It had been ten days since they'd arrived and taken up residence in the hospital off the park. The town was deserted with animals already foraging within the town's limits. Just that morning, a clan of badgers had waddled past. Deer ventured onto the silent streets, grazing here and there as they reclaimed the land.

Collin had conscripted Murphy, Florence, Alfie and Oscar as his assistants. Together, the five of them were getting the vehicles in running condition, Florence and Alfie standing guard while Collin, Oscar and Murphy worked on the truck-lorries here in the UK.

Max and Sunny, a lab tech he'd found hiding inside the hospital, insisted that they take it slow on Doyle's account. His wounds were healing well. A situation Max attributed to the man's excellent physical condition. In another day or so, Max would begin weaning him off the medications. He'd have to at any rate because they could hardly continue to carry the heavily muscled man. Soon he'd have to start pulling his own weight or be left behind. And the farther they got from the London devastation, the greater chance they'd meet up with looters and petty despots who'd set up their own little kingdoms to rule over. A soldier was just what they needed to help keep them safe on their journey.

There'd been stories about the weeks following the original outbreak. No one knew for certain where it had started, but rumors flourished wherever more than a few people gathered. The most popular being that the virus had been created by the government's secret biowarfare program and London had been the testing ground. The second most accepted scenario was that PETA extremists had released infected chimpanzees from a research facility, had come down with the rage virus when bitten and it spread through London like a wildfire out of control.

How it all had started didn't matter. Not to Max, and not to the ones who remained. Everyone had lost someone they'd cared about whether family member, friend or co-worker. More than one in most cases. At least most of them were home. Every day it looked less and less like Max would ever make it back to the States, back to his family. They probably thought he was dead though his parents wouldn't give up hoping until presented with undeniable proof.

He set all that aside to concentrate on cleaning the deepest burn on Doyle's arm and applying creams and gels to the other areas to promote healing. No doubt Doyle would be more than a little embarrassed by the fact that he frequently had his backside exposed for all to see, but he'd get over it quick enough when he realized the extent of his injuries and that there was no other option.

Voices in the hall announced the return of the work crews. Items on their list had been non-perishable food, bottled water, clothing, weapons and anything else that would help them reach civilization-and the research center-alive. From the excited tones, they'd made a good haul today.

Max made notes on the clipboard and returned it to the bedside table before stepping out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. A window showed the slanting rays of the setting sun. Rubbing the back of his head, he nodded a greeting.

Collin was lean and strong with a receding hairline and brown eyes. His speech patterns labeled him as a "Scouser", an inhabitant of the same area that had given birth to the Beatles. Despite the events of the past several months, he presented a cheerful attitude except when he thought no one was looking. Max had seen the troubled glint in his eyes and heard him mumbling in his sleep. It was something they all had in common, this inability to escape the horrors of the rage virus even in their dreams.

The others were from various parts of the UK, Manchester, Croydon, Bristol and other areas surrounding London. He overheard Alfie mention spending time in or near Regent's Park as a child, but he wasn't sure if he grew up there or just hung out there with friends.

The smell of food cooking lured Max in the wake of his companions. They didn't know each other well, but found he could call them friends through shared trials. Each of them had clung to the other since meeting outside of London just before the city had been blown off the map. This time there would be no reclamation, no repatriating of the citizens still abroad. No one would ever return to the British Isles. The news reports said that the inhabitants of Scotland were given a choice to stay and risk another outbreak of the infection or take safe passage.

Each person who emigrated would be given immediate and irrevocable citizenship to the country of their choice in any of the participating countries. But Max had no idea how many had chosen to leave. As a group, Max and the others had agreed to head for Ireland where they knew a NATO lab could be found that would prove none of them were infected or carriers. At this very moment, Sunny was in the lab down the hall doing blood workups on everyone.

Ruby had taken Lukas on as a personal project. She was determined to teach him English before he returned to Germany, provided he was able to at some point. The two of them had taken over food preparation, always making the meals nutritious though not very tasty. Every couple of days the pair made a special dessert, even if all they had was cans of peaches.

Those milling around the hall went to get cleaned up for dinner as Collin and Oscar stopped to talk with Max. "How did it go?"

Collin grinned smugly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "We got 'em purrin' like a basket o' kittens, Pricey."

Internally rolling his eyes at the silly nickname the mechanic had given him, Max nodded. "Good. We should start packing tomorrow."

Oscar rubbed his hands together. Since the original outbreak of the virus, he'd been forced into manual labor, much of it using his skills as an engineer though he did his share of moving heavy things and learning to hide…again. Before that time, his hands had been soft and callous free, with a body bordering on skinny. Out of necessity, he'd had to become more than he'd ever been before. Bulging muscles had stretched his fair skin giving him a lean, muscular build. "There's a military base up the road some. We should stop there and see what we can scrounge."

"Let's see what it looks like before we go inside. Sunny and I'll hunt down hazmat suits just in case." The men headed for the break room they called the café.

The others followed one at a time, stopping to fill their plates at the buffet style servers on the counter. Mostly it was hearty soups with crackers or bread, if they were lucky enough to find some that hadn't gone moldy. When possible, Ruby would make biscuits or rolls. Talk was minimal tonight. It had been a few days since they'd run into looters or the infected and everyone figured they were about due.

Taking the table in the corner, Max stuck his elbow on the edge of the table and rested his head on the knuckles while he slowly spooned the stew-like offering into his mouth and chewed.

Lucy swept into the room, ignoring his desire to be alone by plopping into the chair next to him and scooting close. "What up, Pricey? How's the patient?"

Shrugging, Max pushed his bowl away, his appetite gone. "Better every day. I'll begin taking him off the sedative soon. Get him eating and walking around."

"I'm not much use with fixin' 'n repairin' stuff though I can hold a torch and pass over tools." She wiggled the fingers of both hands. "Don't wanna hurt the music makers. I know it's gonna be a bit of a wait to get back to performin' for anyone, but can't take chances."

"You squeamish?"

"'Bout like most, I 'spect."

She eyed his leftovers. He took the hint and nudged the bowl in her direction. "I could use someone to handle minor injuries so I can spend more time in the lab. Before this last outbreak we found a woman who was immune to the virus. One of the military doctors discovered that her children, a boy and a girl, were immune as well though all three were carriers."

"So there's a cure?" The excitement in Lucy's voice made him smile.

"There could be. I've no idea what happened to the children. The last I saw of them they were running for their lives. I suppose they could've gotten away and are at this moment being used to create a vaccine."

"But you don't think so."

Pushing a hand through his short brown hair laced with gray, Max exhaled loudly. "We can't take the chance. Sunny's been running tests on everyone we come across who will let us and nothing yet. Then again, we don't have a live culture of the virus to work with. We have two generators hooked up to her lab, and are maintaining the strictest precautions possible under the circumstances. Until we can find the real thing, computer models will have to do."

Dropping the plastic spoon into the disposable bowl, Lucy slid her warm fingers into his palm, giving it a squeeze. "You 'n Sunny really know your onions. And I bet there's loads of docs out there working up the cure right now."

He gave her a quick squeeze and reclaimed his hand to take a drink of room temperature lemonade. "At least someone is looking on the bright side."

"Too right." Her smile was warm and genuine, without being flirty.

"Aside from Sergeant Doyle, we've been lucky no one's needed more than a few stitches." The long nights of worrying about being attacked took its toll on Max. If he put his head down on the table right now, he'd likely sleep until morning. "Think I'll head off to bed. Who's on first watch tonight?"

"Couple o' the newbies and Collin. Good at givin' orders, he is."

Their quiet meal was abruptly interrupted by Sunny's excited voice echoing in the hallway just before she shoved the door open and stumbled inside, a sheet of paper clenched in her right hand.

"Something wrong?"

"Look!" Sunny could barely contain herself as she handed him the paper, a computer printout.

Quickly scanning the document, Max too became excited. "Show me!"

The two medical professionals rushed from the room, pelting down the tile floor to the lab. She turned on the only working monitor hooked up to the microscope.

The slide on the left showed the all too familiar shapes of the rage virus growing at a greatly accelerated rate, attacking the platelets and naturally occurring bacteria, stuffing them full of their own genetic material and sending out new signals. After that, the new and "improved" platelets begin replicating so fast, the infected would bleed from all orifices, particularly the eyes, nose and mouth further spreading the virus. Rage would overwhelm the reasoning centers of the brain causing the infected to seek out the uninfected and destroy them.

In the sample on the right, those cells were dying, attacked by round cells that looked like spiked soccer balls. Leukocytes were killing the rage virus and duplicating themselves so fast that it hadn't a snowballs chance in hell of coming back. If that immunity could be harnessed, a retrovirus could be created that would not only protect the uninfected, but possibly even cure the infected.

~~O~~

From the doorway, Lucy and the others watched the drama unfolding before them. Max gave a whoop of joy echoed by Sunny as he hugged her tight. Confused, Lucy took a step into the room to let them know they weren't alone. "What's it all mean, doc?"

Max whirled on her and just for a second she thought he would yell at her for interrupting them. But he didn't. Instead, he gripped her upper arms, grinning like a right old fool. "This is _it_, Lucy! Not just a cure, but a way to prevent the rage virus. It won't happen overnight, and there's still a lot of work to do, but now we've made a start."

Everyone was talking at once, their voices mixed together so that Lucy could barely tell one from the other. She'd seen family, friends and strangers turn murderously violent, killing others and those that hadn't died right away had themselves been turned into a gibbering mass of mindless rage. The thought that there could be a cure made her lightheaded though she managed to get out, "Whose blood is it?"

"Sunny?" Max looked at the young Indian woman.

"Sergeant Doyle's. There were no teeth marks so he wasn't bitten. He must've come into contact with one of the infected at some point, or just their blood or saliva. A single drop would've done the trick. The woman we found, the carrier, the only symptom she displayed was a bloodshot left eye, but he doesn't even have that."

"There was lots o' them infected ones killed. Coulda gotten it anyplace."

Collin was right, Max mused. He just wasn't sure if they were lucky to have escaped or not. Fate had spared them for a reason, and when they reached the closest secure CDC research facility in Ireland, Max hoped and prayed that someone would listen before killing them outright.

All talking ceased when they heard a groggy, gravel filled voice they didn't recognize speaking from behind them. "What the _****_ is goin' on here? Where the _hell_ are my pants?"

The group parted as Max and Sunny came forward. In the hall, one hand gripping the handrail, a sheet held around his waist with one hand, stood the world's salvation: Sergeant Doyle. He swayed, blinking at them in the dim light of the lanterns lining the hallway. Collin and Oscar rushed to catch Doyle before he fell and ruined all of Max's good work, Max following in their wake as they led the soldier back to bed.

Max used the manual crank to raise the head of the bed as the other men let Doyle down gently. Doyle hissed in pain when his back touched the mattress. "Sonofab****!"

"Take it easy, Sergeant Doyle, or you'll reopen your wounds."

"Erg! My back ****ing hurts!" His eyes shot at the group of people huddling in the doorway watching him with undisguised curiosity.

Max shooed them away, asking Collin and Oscar to wait outside as he shut the door. "Didn't expect you to be up and around so soon with all the meds in your system."

"Yeah, well, I burn 'em off too quick for them to do me any good."

"Didn't have a choice. You kept pulling out your IV and swearing a blue streak. Ruby threatened to hit you over the head with a rolling pin if you didn't stop." Max motioned for his patient to roll onto his side. Doyle reached across to grab the edge of the mattress for leverage wincing each time he touched around the burned areas. "Unfortunately, there's a side effect to massive doses of pain and sedation meds that had to be pumped into your system."

"And that is…"

His examination concluded, Max patted Doyle's shoulder, and when the soldier looked at him again, his smile was gone. "I'm sorry, Sergeant. You may have to deal with the pain of withdrawal."

A small flicker of something entered Doyle's eyes and was gone leaving Max to believe it was his imagination. Doyle shifted around to get more comfortable before saying, "That's just ****ing great!"

"The pharmacy was looted, but they still have everything I need to whip up something to help alleviate the symptoms. I'll go in the morning because it's near an exit and we've already barricaded ourselves in for the night."

Already shaking his head, Doyle stated shortly, "No more drugs."

Seeing that the other man was adamant, Max didn't push the issue. "Understood. Hungry?"

"I could eat."

"I'll have Ruby bring something in." Max got to his feet, took the clipboard and made a few notes. "Any questions before I go?"

"Yeah." Crossing his arms, Doyle sent a glare in Max's direction. "Who the **** _are_ you and where the **** _are_ we?"

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **This is an AU from near the end of the movie _28 Weeks Later_ with Jeremy Renner's character Sergeant Doyle. Spoilers for _28 Days Later…_ and _28 Weeks Later…_

~Sandy

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 2**

The last thing Doyle remembered before waking up in the hospital was pushing the car to get it started so Major Levy could take the kids to Wembley Stadium where Flynn would fly them out of the country. He hadn't wanted to leave them to travel alone. To him it was tantamount to abandoning his post. Something he'd already done. Getting them out of the city by any means possible was the only way he could make up for disobeying orders. If he'd died in the process, it was a fitting punishment, but apparently that hadn't happened.

He remembered hearing the car start, feeling it jump when Scarlet let out the clutch and roar into life as she drove away. Next came the excruciating pain of being burned then nothing until just a few minutes ago. The fuzziness around the edges told him he'd been heavily medicated.

Unable to completely focus his mind on what was going on, Doyle continued to glare at the doctor as if he were solely responsible for Doyle's current condition. The doctor was maybe five ten, dark hair sprinkled with gray and a calm, confident demeanor. Not arrogant like most doctors, but Doyle didn't let that stop him from demanding answers.

"Any questions before I go?"

"Yeah." Crossing his arms, Doyle sent a glare in Max's direction. "Who the **** _are_ you and where the **** _are_ we?"

To Doyle's surprise, the doctor chuckled at the obscenities, not even pretending to be shocked. "Don't let Ruby hear you swearing in front of the younger members of our little group or she'll tell you a thing or two.

"I'm Dr. Max Price, by the way. Call me Max. I'm a doctor of, well, everything at the moment. We're hiding out in the basement of an abandoned hospital about twenty kilometers outside the kill zone I think you military types call it."

"Kill zone? Does that mean…"

"'Fraid so. We got out of London a couple of hours before it was bombed. There's nothing left."

Doyle couldn't find a memory to match Max's story. "I don't…"

"I had to heavily sedate you. Collin, Ruby and I carried you until we found a truck that would start, shoved you in the back while Collin drove. Had to keep hitting you with a combination of sedatives and sleeping meds to keep you under. Every time you started to come out of it, you'd scream in pain. Even now, it must be bad."

Doyle started to shrug, stopping when the skin on his back and right arm stung. Only will power kept him from crying out. Max must've seen something in his eyes because he went to the door. "Ruby'll be in soon with your meal. Hope you're not picky."

"I'll eat whatever she puts in front of me, doc."

Max flashed him a half-smile. "Gonna hold you to it, Sergeant."

The door closed behind him and Doyle took the opportunity to voice the agony he was feeling. "Sonofa*****!"

Throwing the covers off, he forced himself to stand straight as he went to the laundry cart in the corner. Sorting through the clean scrubs tossed in a pile, he came up with pants and a shirt that looked like they'd fit.

With just the pants on, he went into the bathroom to look at his injuries. Most of them were covered with bandages, but some were bright red and exposed. Lifting his right arm, he pulled the bandage off to examine the spot on his bicep. It wasn't that big, but it hurt like hell. He replaced the bandage and turned the tap on cold. The trickle that came out was brown, but he splashed it on his face anyway.

Letting the water drip down his chest, he ran his wet hands through his hair wincing when he touched the back where he'd been burned. "Crap! I just had it cut."

Without bothering to wipe the water from his face and chest, he shoved his head and arms into a shirt, groaning as his sore skin stretched and pulled. Ignoring the pain, he started poking around in the stuff piled against the far wall. When the doc had moved him in here, they'd just shoved everything to one side so the bed would fit. From what he could tell, it had once been storage for the admittance kits the hospital gave to each patient. Down under stacks of towels and piles of folded sheets, he found a pair of slippers. He put them on and had just sat on the side of the bed when someone knocked. "Yeah?"

The door opened to admit an older woman carrying a tray which she set on a rolling table and moved over in front of him. "Good t' see you up and around, love. I'm Ruby. Max asked me t' bring you some supper. Sorry it's not more appetizin'."

"It's fine, ma'am. I'll eat anything that doesn't eat me first." He grinned at her accent and lilting laugh, both broadcasting her Scottish heritage. Picking up the spoon, he proved his statement by scarfing down every last drop from the bowl then cleaned up the gravy with a slice of bread. He wiped his mouth, balled up the napkin and tossed it in the empty bowl then belched.

"Well, I guess that says it all, doesn't it?" Ruby's brown eyes twinkled with humor as she gathered up the tray while Doyle finished off the glass of lukewarm tea. "Want more?"

"I'm good. Why'd we stop? It wasn't because of me, way it?"

Turning the chair around, Ruby plopped into it. "Och, no. One of the lorries broke down and you needed tendin' without all the jostlin' around."

The urge to scratch some of the burned areas was almost more than Doyle could stand. He gripped the edge of the mattress hard until the feeling went away. "How long we been here?"

"Fourteen days. Pricey was gonna let you rest another day or two before bringin' you out. Guess you beat him to it."

Shrugging, he got to his feet. Picking up the tray, he gestured for Ruby to go ahead then followed her out. "Heading for a CDC research center?"

"That we are."

Taking one of the lanterns from the hall, Ruby led Doyle through the break room into the kitchen. He dumped the disposable bowl and spoon into the trash and set the tray on one of the counters while Ruby ignored his protests and poured him another glass of tea. "Even with the IV's, you're dehydrated. Drink as much as you want. We make it by droppin' loose tea into pitchers of water from the stream up the road and let it sit in the sun all day. Got some beer too, but it's not cold. Wouldn't be a good idea for you t' have it what with all the drugs you got floatin' around inside you."

"Warm beer mixed with my first real meal in a couple of weeks? I'd probably ralph it up."

"Aye. And we can't afford t' be waistin'." The older woman leaned against one of the counters with her arms crossed.

Doyle had more than a few questions, but Ruby wasn't the one to be asking. "Who's watching the perimeter?"

"Some of the newbies are standing patrol until the midnight shift change." She moved and that's when Doyle saw that she had a handgun shoved into the waistband of her pants. Her eyes followed his and she smiled sadly. "Everyone carries. Don't wanna get caught unawares, if uninvited guests come callin'."

"Speaking of which, where _are_ the weapons? I should be armed just in case."

Rolling her eyes, Ruby moved toward the exit apparently expecting him to follow. "Baby steps, Sergeant. Get some sleep and revisit the subject in the mornin' with Max."

"But…"

"And don't go lookin' for the weapons and explosives 'cause they're guarded." At the exit, she turned. "And put all but two of the hallway lanterns out before you go t' bed. 'Night."

Back in his room thirty minutes later, Doyle threw a damp towel at the wall. "****!"

Against Ruby's advice, he searched as many of the rooms as he dared. Some he couldn't go into because people were sleeping. He also didn't find anything he could wear aside from the scrubs. _I'll raid the local Walmart in the morning._

Putting down the head of the bed, Doyle stared at the ceiling certain he hurt too bad to sleep, but the sedatives and sleep aides still in his system had other ideas and he was soon out for the count.

~~O~~

Voices in the hall woke Doyle from replays of the escape from the rampaging horde of infected people chasing him, Scarlet, Tammy and Andy. One time he and his charges had been caught and ripped to shreds. Another, he was the only survivor, killed by a sweeper team who cornered him inside a pub, shot while he was drinking a beer as if it were just any other day. Each scenario was more horrifying than the last. The worst had to be when they had managed to evade the infected and the sweeper teams. They arrived at Wembley Stadium to meet Flynn and were overrun with infected just a few steps from freedom.

He awoke covered in sweat, the sheets and scrubs sticking to his body. A shower was out of the question, but he did splash water on his face. Turning his head side to side examining the beard, he decided to leave it for now. It wasn't regulation, but nothing about this assignment had gone according to plan. They spent weeks bored out of their minds then in an instant, it had all changed. As far as Doyle knew, he was the only member of Delta Force deployed to London still alive and would proceed as if that were true.

Another thing puzzled him. Why had the doctor bothered saving his life? By Max's own admission, he and the others had to carry him out of the city, which would've been difficult under ideal circumstances. And their lives right now were nowhere close to ideal. Doyle had seen the reports of the events immediately after the first outbreak. The entire island had been cordoned off leaving those still alive and uninfected to believe they'd been abandoned by their country and the world. And into that world arose petty tyrants. Men and women who thought that the breakdown of society had given them carte blanche to do as they pleased to those without power, influence or the stones to stand up to them.

Shoving his feet into the slippers, he left his room and followed the group into the dining room. Breakfast of oatmeal, coffee, tea and not much else waited to be eaten. But instead of serving themselves, they stood in a circle holding hands. When he hesitated, a young woman with long blonde hair in a ponytail smiled and took his right hand, Ruby doing the same on his left. They all bowed their heads, and just to keep the peace, he did as well, listening as the voice of a middle-aged man spoke softly yet with conviction.

"Thank you, Lord, for being there for us and allowing us to cry out to You in our time of need. It is amazing, Lord, that You would take time to listen and to care about what we say.

"God, there are things happening right now that we do not understand. Some of these things make us feel weak, helpless and afraid. Even in the midst of this, we know that You are the Lord, that the situation is in Your hands. We trust You and beseech You for strength, for wisdom and for courage that we will be able to endure in a way that will bring glory to Your name.

"In name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Taking his place at the end of the line, Doyle picked up a disposable bowl and plastic spoon. When he turned to find a place to sit, all the tables were occupied with only a few empty chairs. So far he'd only been introduced to Max and Ruby. The rest were strangers though he did recognize a few from the night before. Pulling out the chair next to Max, the only one facing the door, Doyle sat down, automatically reaching for the sugar and cinnamon. He sprinkled some of both in his oatmeal and stirred, his head down watching the dark brown of the cinnamon swirling around until it disappeared.

"How're you feeling this morning, Sergeant?"

Doyle looked up and found watery brown eyes in a lined face watching him boldly. Resisting a shrug, the soldier kept poking the spoon into his food. These people obviously knew who he was, had been taking care of him for the last two weeks. No reason he shouldn't answer. "Sore. Tired. Didn't sleep well."

"Understandable," Max put in from his right. "I know you don't want the drugs any longer, but if you change your mind…"

"I won't, but thanks."

Max lifted one shoulder and reached for his coffee, using one finger to point out the others as he introduced them. "Jasper King, Lucy Hamilton and Alfie Middleton."

Lucy smiled blandly at him and went back to eating. Alfie, on the other hand, barely looked up. No one offered to shake hands, and Doyle understood their reticence. What he didn't get was why the others in the room were whispering behind his back, so to speak. Furtive glances kept coming his way. He'd feel someone staring only to look away when they were caught. Their intense scrutiny came out of curiosity, not fear, and Doyle guessed it had to do with the drama of his rescue and their exodus from London before it was bombed.

They hadn't had to tell him about the bombing. As part of NATO, Delta Force had been informed of the contingency plan should another outbreak occur. The first one they handled by cordoning off the city, rounding up the uninfected and shipping them off to refugee camps in Spain, Portugal, Italy, and Greece while they waited for the infected to die of starvation. Once infected, a person's sense of self-preservation and will were overridden by the compulsion to infect others. It became the main driving force, so much so that someone afflicted with the rage virus ignored the body's need for nourishment, water or even shelter. They became driven by instinct alone, filled with rage, aggression and extreme anger. Adrenaline would pump into their system giving them heightened mobility and endurance enabling them to cover vast areas of open countryside in a short amount of time. At this point, Scotland was still under quarantine, had been since it was discovered that a multitude of infected had traversed the distance, infecting more as they went. At the last briefing, the troops sent in to dispose of the infected still hadn't found them all.

And after this second occurrence…Doyle scoffed. _Occurrence_ was too mild a word, but try as he might, he couldn't come up with one bad enough he could say out loud. FUBAR, SUSFU, TARFU and BOHIC were more like it, but he would hold off on voicing his opinions until he got to know his companions better. After this occurrence, NATO wouldn't have hesitated to drop a few skillfully place bombs on Zombie Central.

One and two at a time, the rest of the group finished eating and stopped to introduce themselves to the soldier. The men nodding, one or two flipping him a salute, and the women giving him bold once-overs. All but a pair of shy teenage girls. Just to make them blush, he winked at them only to receive glare from Ruby. He'd looked to the right when the kitchen door slammed to find the older woman standing there, hands on her hips and a death glare that rivaled the one bestowed upon him by his DI at least once a day every day all during BCT. When he'd moved on to AIT, that same DI had nodded once in approval.

But now, the man was long dead, felled by a stroke not three months into retirement. If Sergeant Ryland could see him as part of a ragtag group of survivors left over from a plague the likes of which had never been seen in the world, he'd just shake his head and pitch in without a word.

Thinking of Ryland made Doyle realize how lucky they all were. They'd been given one more chance to live. Almost as if God was telling them "You better not screw it up this time."

"Sergeant?"

Max's voice broke into Doyle's thoughts startling him. "Yeah?"

Pushing away from the table, Doyle followed the doctor down the hall and into one of the rooms that had been occupied during the night. They were joined by another man, both watching him as if he had all the answers. "Sergeant Doyle, this is Archer Young. He and I have been trying to lead this group while you've been out of action. Now that you're up and around, we'd like you to take over as our leader."

"Me? Why?" Too restless to sit, Doyle paced in front of the closed door. He waved an arm. "They don't know me, but they _do_ know _you_."

Shifting in his seat, Max crossed his arms. "But I'm a doctor. Sure, I can issue orders with the best of 'em, but they…_we_ need someone for whom leadership _is_ the job."

"But I'm just a grunt. A guy who takes orders from someone else."

Max and Archer exchange an indulgent smile. "If that were true, you wouldn't have abandoned your post to save innocent civilians from being slaughtered like herds of cattle suspected of having Mad Cow disease."

The other man, bald as an egg though he wasn't more than forty, and muscular, added his voice to Max's. "It'd be a right ol' favor you'd be doin' us, Sarge."

Looking from one to the other, Doyle only saw sincerity and candor. They honestly thought him the best person to lead them to safety, if there was such a thing waiting for them over the next hill or the one after that. It was true that they needed someone to keep them focused and motivated. To make sure they believed what he believed. That they'd make it out of this, to live without worrying that they'd be killed or worse, turned into murderous rage monsters. Stopping his aimless pacing, he faced the men, arms crossed and feet planted shoulder width apart as he jumped head first into his new role. Mentally making a list, he reached to open the door, stopping when Max asked, "What do you want to do first, Sergeant?"

A long-suffering sigh whooshed out, his hands gesturing at his attire. "Get me some _real_ clothes. No one's gonna take me seriously in this get-up."

"And second?"

"A 'family' meeting." He didn't bother with finger quotes, letting his tone do the work for him. "You can announce the change in command then."

Archer grinned at Doyle's take-charge tone. "You have a plan, don't cha?"

"I do." Opening the door, Doyle stepped out almost running into Ruby, Lucy and a man in his sixties who had been listening at the door. While Lucy and the man were embarrassed at getting caught, Ruby actually seemed proud of herself. To the man, Doyle said, "We haven't met. I'm Sergeant Doyle."

Incongruous in khakis and a T-shirt advertising a popular heavy metal band, the white-haired man just stared. Fortunately, Ruby came to his rescue. "Lukas don't speak much English. Just enough to be helpin' me in the kitchen."

A half-grin turned up one side of Doyle's mouth just before he spoke to Lukas in halting German. "_Sprechen sie, Deutsch?_"

Lukas' face lit up. "_Ja! Ja!_"

Doyle and Lukas continued speaking in German until Doyle patted him on the shoulder and pointed. Lukas nodded and hurried away. Feeling like he was being watched, Doyle turned to find Max, Lucy, Ruby and Archer watching him with awe. "What?"

"You speak German?"

Blowing off their disbelief, Doyle opened the door to his room. "Frankfurt was my first duty station. I was there about six months. Learning the language was the easiest way to get a date."

Max led the others away as he closed the door on their chuckling. What he said was true. He'd purposely chatted up women who didn't speak English. That in turn had gotten him many dates. All women who wanted to teach him a thing or three about the German language. He returned the favor…and a lot more.

His fond memories of those months were pushed from his mind as he mentally prepared himself to take charge. Ruby knocked on the door a few minutes later carrying a bowl of warm water and a bar of soap. Without a word, she set it on the table and left him alone.

Lukas returned just as Doyle finished washing up as best he could. He thanked him in both German and English then Max came in to check his wounds. Every time Max touched the area surrounding the deepest burns, he hissed in pain though it didn't feel as bad as it had the night before. He guessed that knowing the onset of withdrawal symptoms could happen at any moment had taken some of that soreness away.

With the fresh bandages pulling at the skin, he got dressed. He topped off the jeans, a black T-shirt, boxers and hunting boots with a denim jacket. Lukas had also included a razor and comb making Doyle wonder if it was the German's way of telling him the beard had to go. Taking the not so subtle hint, he used the brown trickle from the sink to shave then combed what was left of his hair, careful not to bump the burned area at the back of his head. From the feel of it, hair was already starting to grow through the damaged skin. In a couple of weeks, most of the burns would be healed, but the worst hit areas would take months. Nothing could change what happened, so he didn't dwell on it.

Stepping out of his room, he had no idea where to go or what needed to be done. Sitting around had never been his MO. He wouldn't be able to do much heavy lifting, but he had to do something to keep busy. Going into the kitchen, he watched Ruby and Lukas work together like they'd been doing it for years instead of just a few days. "Give you a hand?"

"Of course." Ruby drew him to the set of three sinks at the far end. Inside were three chickens with their head and feet chopped off. A slit had been cut across the bottom of the belly leaving a gaping hole. "You can pluck these while we get the pots boiling and the vegetables cut up."

Having seen more dead bodies in one day than he had in all the years before, Doyle became annoyed with himself when his stomach heaved at the idea of plucking the newly killed chickens. Logically, he knew that the chicken in his Thai food had once been a living, breathing animal, but he'd never been brought in this soon in the preparation process.

A pair of work gloves came into his sight. He took them from Lukas, slipped them on, held onto one of the birds by the leg, grabbed a handful of feathers and yanked, doing it again and again until the first one was done. With a long sigh, he wiped the back of one hand across his brow. Some days you just do the work whether you like it or not. Today was an "or not" day.

~~O~~

Singly or in small groups, the rest of the troops wondered in. Some were drawn by the smell of the food cooking and others just because they knew it was lunch time. Instead of setting up the food line in the crowded dining room, Doyle had suggested they leave the pots of hearty chicken and vegetable soup on the gas stove to keep it warm. Bread was replaced with a variety of crackers. And again, iced tea to drink rounded out the meal.

While the others ate, Max called the group to order. "I have an announcement, everyone. If you're all agreeable, I'm going to turn the burden of leadership over to Sergeant Doyle. This will free up my time to work in the lab with Sunny. We're hoping that we can find something to give to the CDC that will help them create a cure for the rage virus. Sergeant?"

Getting to his feet, Doyle nodded a greeting to everyone before beginning. "Thanks, doc. I've been thinking about our situation and don't think we should wait here in hopes that rescue will come to us."

One of the men whose name he didn't know raised his hand. "What you got in mind, Sarge?"

Doyle confidently met the eyes of each and every person present. "We're gettin' the **** out of England."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 3**

Watching from the back of the room as Doyle excited their little community, Lucy wondered what the future held for them all. Despite his insistence that he wasn't a leader, the American soldier did exactly that. He filled them with hope and optimism, made them believe that their world wouldn't always be about hiding and scrounging just to stay alive. Afraid to be out at night because the infected traveled then. They hadn't encountered one in over two weeks and were about due, in her estimation. _What do __I__ know? I'm a musician, not a soldier or doctor or anything that will help us reach the safety of Ireland. I should set out on my own, leave them with one less person to worry about._

Her mind made up, Lucy excused herself, going to her room and shoving her few personal possessions into the old backpack. When she fled London, she'd joined up with Max, Collin and Ruby, providing another pair of hands to carry Doyle as well as another set of eyes to keep watch. But they didn't need her anymore. _Maybe once I'm was away from here, I'll find a guitar that won't be too much of a burden to carry._

It was her turn on first watch tonight along with Alfie and those new fellas from Ipswich. All she had was the handgun she'd been issued when they first took up residence in this place. All she needed was ammunition.

Shoving the bag under her bed, Lucy returned to the dining room just as the meeting broke up. Doyle called her over to let her know that for now, they'd keep to the same guard rotation as they had been until he feels the need for change. "Thanks, Sergeant. I'll be gettin' to my chores now, if you've nothin' else."

"I think you'll find that I have a relaxed command style. All I ask is should the time come when my services are needed, that no one question orders in an emergency."

"'Course not." She gave him a sad smile then headed for the back of the building. A stream ran behind the hospital and it was a perfect place to wash clothes. Not exactly her favorite job, but it had to be done. Thankfully, she'd located the stores of gloves so she wouldn't injure her hands. Archie and Florence had already gathered up everyone's clothes and were only waiting on her to take the short walk through the field.

Archie kept watch while she and Florence, or Flo as she'd asked to be called, used rocks on along the water's edge to scrub at the dirt and grime. Some of it came out, but most wouldn't. There wasn't much choice at the moment. Once they ran out, no telling how long until they'd be near a shop again. Provided that this virus hadn't spread around the world.

"That Doyle's a handsome bloke, ain't 'e, love?" Flo usually preferred quiet when working, surprising Lucy with the subject matter.

"Oh, he's a bit of alright, though I prefer my blokes a little more on the artistic side."

Flo clicked her tongue in reprimand. "Can't afford t' be a chooser when you're beggin' for companionship. How old you reckon he be?"

Looking up at the sky as if the answer were written in the puffy white clouds overhead, Lucy pondered that question for all of three seconds. "Kinda old. Forty, maybe."

The older woman chuckled. "Oh, love. Forty's not old. M' granddad lived t' be ninety-three. 'N he still had it all goin' on upstairs too, if ya get my drift."

"I do. It's just that I don't want t' get too attached, just in case. 'N with him bein' in charge 'n all, what if the others think I'm doin' 'im just to curry favor?"

Setting back on her heels, Flo shook her head sadly. "Then pay 'em no mind 'cause they'd only be jealous that you got there first. I know he's not up to it yet, but when he is, make your interest known. If he turns you down, move on. 'N if he doesn't then you'll have each other in th' times when comfort is needed."

"He could also only want the one time."

"'N that's good too. Just 'cause the future's uncertain, doesn't mean you shouldn't have a bit o' fun now and again."

Picking up a pair of pants soiled with engine grease, Lucy applied a generous amount of stain lifter and set them aside. "I'll think about it. Now can we just work? I don't really feel like talkin' today."

The rest of their time passed slowly, but eventually, they finished. Together, they hung the clothes, towels, bedclothes and whatnot over the branches of trees to dry. As warm and breezy as it was, they'd be done before nightfall.

Hours later, dark had come once more to the hospital and its residents. Once everyone but the guards had gone to bed, Lucy waited another hour before slipping into the weapons room, a locked supply closet. She gathered as much ammo as would fit in the voluminous pockets of her cargo pants, and returned to her room. Careful not to wake her roommate, she added it to her bag then returned to her post.

When they first arrived, they'd blocked all the stairwells with cement and bricks. Not to keep them from getting out, but to stop looters and infected from getting in. After telling Collin that she had a headache and she would go have a lie down, she retrieved her bag and took the stairs to the roof. From there, she would climb down the side where she'd already stashed a rope, and take off in whatever direction suited her fancy as long as it wasn't toward London.

She was just unwinding the rope when the sound of someone moving around startled a scream out of her just before Doyle came around the air conditioning unit, hands in his pockets. Looking for all the world as if he were out on a Sunday stroll.

He didn't say a word at first. Just stood there looking out over the streets of town, empty of people, the vehicles sitting in the sun waiting for owners who would never return. All she could do was stand there as well, the rope dangling from one hand, waiting for Doyle to speak.

"I need your help."

"All I do is play guitar and sing. Wasn't successful at it, but it's what I do."

Leaning against the A/C unit, ankles crossed, he shrugged. One shoulder, the left, twitched up then down. "Don't know much about kids. The younger ones need someone who speaks their language."

"Clover and Waverly? They do speak English, ya know."

One side of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. "Sure about that?"

Chuckling, Lucy had to give him that. The two teenage girls had wondered in a few days after they'd arrived, frightened and in shock. They were only just now beginning to come out of themselves and each other, refusing to be separated or to go outside. It had taken all of Lucy's persuasive powers to get them to leave their rooms. "Yeah."

Doyle's grin stayed in place and a pleading tone entered his voice. "You'd really be doin' me a favor. At least for a couple of weeks."

Lucy knew what he was up to, and she let him. Simply because she didn't relish being alone. "Two weeks then…"

"…you're in the wind."

Doyle bent down to snag her bag with one hand and the rope with the other then headed for the roof access. She still thought he was a bit old for her. Maybe they were meant to be friends and nothing else. And she was okay with that.

"Do you also speak 'Alfie'?"

Rolling her eyes, she stated, "No one does," making Doyle really laugh for the first time since he'd come awake. It made him look younger, more approachable. _Maybe I'll stay after all._

~~O~~

At Max's insistence as the head of their medical team, the small group of survivors stayed entrenched at the hospital for another week to let Doyle heal a little more before starting off on their trek to Ireland. Their trip across the North Sea would have to be by ferry, if Collin and Oscar could get one running. The landing site would be far to the north or south in order to avoid the coast near Dublin and the troops blockading the city.

Pounding on the roof indicated that they were pulling over. Signaling the other vehicles, he received toots on the horns in response as the Hummer turned onto a dirt road that wound through overgrown brush and trees. A minute later, an old farmhouse, barn and corral came into view.

Leaping to the ground, Doyle opened the doors for his companions, Max groaning as he slid from behind the wheel. "Looks deserted, but we should knock just in case."

Doyle nodded and again signaled the others, all armed. With a nod, they went to check out the barn and the back of the house. The booted feet of Doyle, Max, Lucy and Ruby thumped on the sagging front porch of the shabby farmhouse and a moment later heard a noise like the mewling of a cat. It built to a crescendo, overlaid with the voice of a young woman calling out, "_Hello? Come in please!_"

With his back to the door, Doyle kept a watchful eye on the countryside while several others, all armed, roamed around to the back of the house and into the barn, drawn by the lowing of cows and the whinny of horses as they ran in the paddock. His fingers flexed and tensed on the stock of the HK417, one of a large number of weapons he'd taken from an abandoned military base. Oscar referred to it as his BFG. His Big ****ing Gun.

Their group had expanded to more than twenty from the ten they had when they left the hospital. A couple of the older men had been in the military back in the day, and to his surprise, they'd readily accepted Doyle as the leader of the group. Since he'd awakened in the hospital, everyone looked to him to be their savior. Why, he didn't know, but it felt good to be needed and wanted.

After the withdrawal symptoms started, he needed something to keep his mind and body occupied so he didn't think about breaking into the store of drugs to ease the restlessness and pain that came with the muscle aches, irritability and sleeplessness. Chills caused his body to shudder uncontrollably then just as suddenly, he'd be soaked with sweat. His back hurt almost constantly and they had to make frequent stops for the bouts of diarrhea and vomiting. Thankfully, that seemed to be coming to an end. When they stopped, the doc would take his vitals and nod, a small smile playing on his lips. He took that to mean he was getting better. But he didn't need the doc to tell him that. He could feel it, but it was still good to have confirmation.

Max apologized for causing his suffering in that matter-of-fact way he had. Going through the withdrawal process hurt like nothing Doyle had ever felt before. Even more than the still healing burns on his body, but he was glad to be alive, and assured Max it was all good. That _they_ were good.

At the voice from inside, Doyle's soldier's instincts pushed to the fore. He directed his team to hang back while he checked it out. Motioning the others out of the way, he let the rifle hang from his neck by the strap and pulled out the 9-mm Browning. Much easier to use in close quarters.

Pushing the door open with his right hand, he winced as its rusty hinges screeched loudly in the quiet of a sunny mid-afternoon. The farmhouse wasn't large by any means, barely big enough for a family of four to move around in without getting in each other's way. A layer of dust lay over every surface, even in the small kitchen.

His boots made noise on the rough wooden floors no matter how carefully he tread and the smell of rotting food assailed his already heightened senses. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the sneeze building, breathing a sigh of relief when it went away.

"_Hello? Is someone there?_"

Max and Lucy had stopped just inside the front door, their eyes going wide at the weakness of the female voice calling out to them. On top of it came the cries of a baby. Before he could stop them, they'd hurried toward the back of the house and through an open door.

"Doc! Lucy! No!" Doyle rushed after them then slowed down, coming to the same conclusion as they. Anyone able to speak coherently couldn't be infected with the rage virus or they'd have been on them the instant they set foot on the sagging, peeling porch. He stopped in the doorway at the sight of a malnourished young woman with tangled auburn hair lying on the bed, one hand rubbing the back of a tiny baby cradled against her chest. "What the hell…"

"Thank God you've come. Didn't think we'd make it much longer on our own." Her accent was common for someone born and raised not far from this very spot, if Doyle didn't miss his guess. She noticed him then and smiled wanly. "Oh. Hullo."

Doyle nodded once. "Ma'am. You alone here?"

"Aye. Just me 'n the babe since Lawrence passed on."

Max slanted a look at Doyle, turning it into a bland smile as he faced the girl again. "I'm Dr. Price. This is Sergeant Doyle and Lucy."

"You boys're American?" Max nodded, his smile turning into a frown when the girl coughed a few times causing a rattling in her chest. "Always wanted t' visit th' colonies. Guess this'll have t' do."

"What's your name?" Max accepted the bag from Lucy, his self-appointed nurse. Her blonde hair had been long when Doyle first set eyes on her, but she'd cut it to chin length rather than spend an inordinate amount of time caring for it. Now it framed her face, bangs hanging above wide green eyes. She was dressed much as he was in khakis, a plain white T-shirt and boots. Kneeling beside Max, she calmly awaited instructions, one hand still on the handle of the case.

"Louise." Her eyes dropped closed then she forced them open again. "Call me Lu."

"Alright, Lu. How about I have a look at you?"

Lou nodded, wincing when the baby started to cry again. "The babe hasn't been fed in a while. I haven't been well this past week or so and couldn't get to the barn for milk today."

Pacing to the window, Doyle looked out to see his companions digging holes to bury the carcasses of chickens that had died of starvation. A family of cats watched from the side of the barn away from the paddock where the horses had come to the rails to view the events with intense stares of disapproval.

"Lucy, find out if anyone knows how to milk a cow. Bottles are probably in the kitchen. Fill as many as you can. Make sure they're very clean. Warm the milk to body temperature."

The street musician grinned. "I'll be thinkin' that Ruby knows her way 'round the business bits of a cow."

Max smiled. "Wouldn't be surprised."

Doyle had to move before he jumped out of his skin. He needed room to pace, to walk off some of the restlessness that built up in his system when he stayed still too long. "Doc…"

Getting to his feet, Max turned with the baby in his arms. "Could you hold her while I exam her mother?"

The young mother turned a sad smile on him, one filled with pleading. "Please, Sergeant? It's just been the two of us so she's not felt the lovin' arms of her father and needs to feel safe."

Lu's eyes filled with tears, and like most men, he couldn't handle a crying woman and gave in so she would stop. "Yes, ma'am."

Setting the rifle within easy reach, Doyle took the child from Max. The doctor used a corner of the blanket to wipe tears from her chubby cheeks. "Keep her head supported…that's good. Now walk around. See if that will calm her until the milk's ready."

"Doc…"

"Oh, you look so natural, Sergeant Doyle. I'm thinkin' you'd make a wonderful father."

Her words kept him from saying he'd decided long ago not to have children of his own. His three older brothers had seven kids between them making family gatherings like feeding time at the Seattle zoo. More often than not, as the only single member of the family, he ended up sitting with the kids. He loved his nieces and nephews, but one could only take so much family togetherness before he had to go home to his solitary life in his quiet off-base apartment.

He paced from one side of the room to the other, taking care to keep his eyes averted from what the doctor was doing and only half listening to their quiet conversation.

"How old is she?"

He heard a shrug in her response. "Lost track. Maybe six weeks."

"How long has your husband been gone?"

"It was before the radio and tellys stopped transmittin' after the first outbreak."

From what Doyle had pieced together listening to others tell their stories, the one radio station that had been brought back online during NATO's repopulation efforts had gone off the day he Scarlet, Andy and Tammy had made a break for freedom. For more than six months Lu had been all alone. She had the baby alone and had tried to carry on alone. Such a sad life. His wasn't much better. When not on a mission with his Delta Force squad, he spent most of his time alone or in solitary pursuits. Such was the life of a sniper. At least Lu had an excuse. He didn't.

Doyle jumped when Max touched him on the arm, nodding at Lu. "I need to get supplies from the truck. Stay with her."

"Don't be gone long, doc." Not knowing what to say to the young mother, Doyle stayed quiet. Standing at the window, he began to sway side to side, one hand patting the little girl's back. Lucy came in with a bottle, Doyle answering her smirk with a lighthearted scowl as the girl left again. He upended the bottle and touched it to the baby's lips. She opened her mouth and latched onto the rubber nipple sucking greedily. "Whoa! Lookit her _go._"

"She's starvin', the poor mite." The bed creaked as she shifted and adjusted the covers. "You'll be wantin' to burp her when she's done."

He slanted his eyes at her and away. "Haven't been around babies much. No idea what to do."

"Get a towel from the 'loo and put it over your shoulder." He did as he was told and returned. "Support the head and neck, bring her upright and put her on your shoulder."

"That it?"

Again Lu smiled at him, her eyes drifting closed. "Sometimes. If it don't happen right away, walk around some and rub her back."

Following instructions, Doyle paced the room again, stopping to look out the window. Alfie was good-naturedly teasing one of the teenage girls. He took off running and she chased him, both laughing and having a bit of fun despite their circumstances. Again swaying side to side, Doyle fell into a natural rhythm.

"What's your first name, Sergeant?"

He looked at her and away in embarrassment. "Uh…Nigel, ma'am."

One side of her mouth turned upward. "Part Brit, are ya?"

Shrugging one shoulder, Doyle continued pacing. "For some reason, my parents give me and my older brothers names guaranteed to cause playground fights. Theirs are Alistair, Rupert and Cyril."

"Those are fine names. Unusual for Americans though." Lu sighed deeply ending on a cough that she tried to suppress. "Nigel, would you please see that my girl's well taken care of? Make sure she knows that her mum and dad loved her?"

"The doc'll fix you up and you can tell her yourself." The lie came easily to Doyle and Lu accepted it as truth. "Uh, what's her name?"

"Lawrence's mum died when he was a lad so we were goin' to name her Fredonia, but it didn't seem to fit my girl."

"I see her as more of a…Gracie." There was no answer from the mother and Doyle didn't know if that meant she liked the name or hated it and wanted to spare his feelings. "What do you think of that, little one? Should we call you Gracie?"

The baby gurgled like she was agreeing then burped louder than the soldier thought something that small should be able to. She was such a tiny thing, barely weighing twelve pounds, if he had to guess. "Hey! She likes it! Did you hear that, Mommy? I mean _Mummy_."

Again there was no answer from Lu. Doyle turned expecting to see the young mother sleeping peacefully only to find that her already pale skin had gone deathly white. One hand lay limply on her stomach and her chest had stopped moving. He went to the bed and pressed two fingers against the underside of her jaw.

The baby had gone to sleep on his shoulder. His mouth a grim line, he rested one big hand over Gracie's back to steady her as he made his way to the front door. "Doc."

Max pulled his head out of the open back door of the truck, crossed the yard with Lucy on his heels and strode quickly through the house to the bedroom. Doyle followed, watching as Max took Lu's wrist, automatically feeling for a pulse. Shaking his head, he laid her hand back on her stomach. "I'm sorry, Sergeant."

Gracie moved, a gurgle coming from her throat as her tiny nose grazed the side of his neck. An hour later, the travelers stood over a newly dug grave as Ruby said a prayer for Gracie's mother. The others drifted away one or two at a time until only Doyle and the baby remained.

Silently, the soldier vowed to do as Lu had asked of him. He would take care of Gracie until the day he died. And just like that, Doyle became a father.

~~O~~

After turning the livestock free, Lucy and the other women flocked around Doyle offering advice and cooing over Gracie. They went inside to gather up diapers, clothes, the few toys they could find and bottles filled with enough milk to keep her fed until they found a store with powdered formula.

Max just shook his head and herded everyone to the vehicles. At the next military base, they traded in one of the trucks for a couple of Humvees complete with heavy duty winches, an MK 19 grenade launcher, an M2 heavy machine gun, and an assortment of other weapons. Radios, food and bottled water, too. Doyle walked around, issuing orders, commenting on which weapons to take and which to leave behind. And he did it all with Gracie sleeping on his shoulder.

A couple of the older men grinned at the sight of a full laundry room of uniforms as well, but had been voted down. No one, not even Doyle wanted to wear the thick material if they didn't have to. Instead, they stopped to raid several clothing stores, limiting everyone to no more than two pairs of pants and four shirts. Now, with the baby along, they'd have to stop again. Something that could be done when they got to Dublin and located the CDC research lab rumored to be there.

Max led the way at the wheel of one of the Humvees, Doyle sitting in the turret keeping an eye out for anyone and anything that looked hinkey. Now that the soldier couldn't see him, the doctor's internal grin showed externally as Ruby and Lucy kept watch over the sleeping child.

They'd been on the road about an hour when Gracie began to cry. The radio that Max kept close at hand crackled and he knew who it would be. "Go ahead, Sergeant."

"_Why's she crying? What did you __do__ to her?_" Doyle demanded.

"We didn't _do_ anythin'. She needs changin'." Max spotted a dirt road that lead to another farmhouse that appeared to be abandoned. He briefly considered turning down the road, but changed his mind.

There was a pause then, "_Oh._"

Doyle's relief was evident. Max would've just pulled over so Doyle could learn to change the diaper, but they had to reach the next town before nightfall in order to locate the most defensible place to hunker down for the night. "She'll be fine."

Ruby snorted and lowered the window so she could stick her head out. "I've changed my share o' nappies, boy. This'll be-what did ye call it?"

This time they heard a smile in Doyle's voice. Something that hadn't happened since he stopped taking the drugs that saved his life. "_Easy-peasy_."

"Right. But don't get too comfy up there, love. This'll be _yer_ job soon enough."

"_Uh…yeah. Right._"

They all heard and ignored a small hitch in the sigh that signaled the fear was back. Just the fact that Doyle was alive when he should be dead, either from the virus or being burned to death by the sweeper team spoke of a strength of will Max had seldom seen displayed in quite this way. The hospital had contained a full pharmacy where he could've formulated a palliative to help with the symptoms, but the soldier had turned him down flat, preferring to go cold turkey.

To be fair, some of the work had been done before Doyle was brought out of the heavy sedation. It also had to do with Doyle's personality. If he'd been the type of man to just slide through life, he would never have been accepted into Delta Force nor would he have survived this long. That same tenacity had seen him through the worst of the withdrawal symptoms and would do him well as Gracie's guardian.

Ignoring the radio, Doyle leaned over the side of the Humvee. "Hey, doc. Let's make a pit stop."

Max nodded and a moment later he heard a sharp whistle as the soldier signaled to the other driver's. Before they'd come to a complete stop, Doyle vaulted over the side, hit the ground running and disappeared into the brush, that nasty looking rifle slung over his shoulder.

Sunny, driving the third vehicle in the convoy, jumped down and came to Max's side. "What's going on?"

Shrugging, Max rubbed at his lower back. "Not as young as I used to be, Sunny. Sitting so long makes these old muscles ache. Thought we could all use a good stretch."

As a member of the medical team, Sunny was privy to everything about everyone in the group. She knew the real reason they'd stopped was for Doyle's sake. Ruby and Lucy were the only other people to know about Doyle's problem and he trusted them to keep it that way.

Twenty minutes later, everyone who needed to had taken their turn at relieving themselves. At the moment, Doyle was in the back seat with Gracie assuring himself that she was okay. Try as he might, he wasn't able to keep the glimmer of anxiety from his eyes though Max was certain no one else saw it. Opening the other door, Max leaned his left arm on the doorframe, gesturing at the rifle now resting between Doyle's knees. "My turn up top."

One big hand rested gently on Gracie's stomach, spanning the undernourished child's entire body and making her look small. "Sorry, doc. That's _my_ job."

"Son, I was a Marine back in Desert Shield then, in Desert Storm. I still know my way around a BFG." Doyle opened his mouth to protest and Max grinned. Reluctantly, Doyle passed the rifle over, but kept the Browning. Reaching over the back seat, Max shook the young man sleeping there. "You're turn to drive, Alfie."

"Right." Swinging his legs over the back seat, the former cashier for Hungry Harry's Petrol 'n Pizza carefully avoided the make-shift car seat and kept going until he was behind the wheel, all semblance of sleep gone. Alfie didn't say anything more. Just slid the seat back to accommodate his long legs, buckled his seatbelt and waited while Max hooked the rifle over his shoulder and clambered easily up into the turret. He rapped the roof and the Hummer began to move, jerkily at first, the ride smoothing out as the boy got a feel for the large vehicle.

~~O~~

Sitting in the passenger seat, Lucy watched Doyle with Gracie. The soldier seemed a tad overprotective, but she got the reason for it. He'd been entrusted with her care and didn't want to mess it up. But he had lots of help. She had one younger sibling and had done her share of caring for kids and getting paid for it. That and serving drinks is how she paid the bills without resorting to going on the dole. And there was just something so sweet about seeing a soldier's heart melted by twelve pounds of "dynamite."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 4**

Night fell on the British Isles just as it had every night for millions upon millions of years. Above, stars twinkled, uncaring that the people of Earth were wading through one of their darkest and most troubling times in history.

Medieval Europe lost an estimated twenty-five million to the Black Death. Were those still alive fortunate or not because there was no way to know how many people had died from the rage virus, directly or indirectly? In Doyle's mind, this was so much worse that the plague because it was happening _now_ and it was happening to _him_.

From the window of a mansion grand enough to have been a summer cottage for the royal family, Doyle looked up at the sky. During the day, it had been a dazzling electric blue, cloudless and seeming to extend into infinity. The paler color gave way first to the blue on the Dallas Cowboy's logo. Soon, it would change to a dark blue that was almost black sprinkled with pinpoints of light. By that time, they would've already barricaded themselves in the home.

The owner, long dead they presumed, must have been paranoid that someone would break in because it was a fortress. Twelve-foot concrete walls and huge metal slabs that could be dropped into place over the windows and doors, with the touch of a few buttons or manually. The power was out and they hadn't been able to bring the generators so the group split up into teams to pull down the barriers and lock them into place.

Doyle placed Gracie in Ruby's care until his share of the work was done. The older woman and Lukas had prepared the evening meal, and everyone was too tired to give up even a token complaint for the unimaginative fare.

Thinking of the Cowboys caused Doyle to wonder how his favorite football team, the New York Jets, was faring, or if they'd even been able to finish the season. No one knew for certain how widespread the virus had become. For all they knew, most of the world could have killed each other in a bloody, rage-induced battle to the death and they were all that was left. All they could do was hope.

The day after he'd come out of the coma, Max had spouted a bunch of gibberish about genetics, how the immune system worked and how anyone found to be immune would be the salvation of the human race. Doyle didn't understand most of it, but let Max think he did.

Footsteps echoing in the enormous entry hall returned his attention to his job: closing the heavy metal shutters in this part of the home. The doc had warned him that his ability to focus on the job might be impaired until his body returned to normal. He slammed the metal into place and locked it down, muttering a curse under his breath and glancing around guiltily in case Ruby had heard him saying something bad within Gracie's hearing. It would take a while, but his "soldier's vocabulary" should clean up about the time Gracie left for college…if he let her out of his sight for that long. As guardian of a baby girl, all boys automatically became jerks. Not that they weren't before, but now it was for a different reason.

He turned to face Ruby holding the baby that he'd taken on as his responsibility at the graveside of her mother. The bottle in her other hand told him it was feeding time again. He accepted the tiny bundle, shifting her around until he felt secure then took the offered bottle.

Ruby brushed her fingers over the downy soft hair on the top of Gracie's head. "Tomorrow we'll teach ye t' mix th' formula and bathe th' wee one."

Together they walked to the nursery that had been appropriated for Doyle and Gracie's use. "My brothers all have kids, so I have an idea, but I'll need help, at least to start."

Smiling indulgently, Ruby struck a match and put it to the wick of an oil lamp. Lifting it high, she led the way to the crib set up in the corner. "All new parents do. We found this room filled with clothes, toys, furniture. Everything anyone would need t' raise a happy and healthy baby, and then some. Pity they're all gone now."

Choosing the rocking chair in front of the cold fireplace, Doyle used his foot to put it in motion while Ruby watched from one of the two child-sized beds. "Would you stay in case I have questions?"

"That's th' plan." Pillows and bed linens were piled on the ends of the beds. Getting to her feet with grunt, the older woman made up the beds, leaving a blanket folded on the foot of the one Doyle would be using. By the time she returned to his side, Gracie had finished her bottle.

"Burp?" he asked.

"Aye." She passed him a thick cloth. "Once that's done, she'll be off t' th' land o' nod straight away."

Doyle gently rubbed Gracie's back until she let out a belch that would've impressed his squad, filling him with pride. "Good girl!"

He changed her diaper, and a few minutes later, she was asleep. Getting to his feet, he carefully laid her in the bed propped on her side with a cushion made just for that purpose to prevent her from rolling over onto her stomach. He heard somewhere it helped prevent crib death. It wasn't cold, but he still tucked a blanket over the small body.

Rolling the crib closer to his bed, he lay down on his left side, reaching through the bars to touch Gracie's tiny hand, more to comfort himself than her. His body needed rest but refused to let him sleep more than a few hours at a time so he took long shifts guarding the people he'd sworn to protect. Just because he was likely the only Delta Force member to survive this mission didn't mean he could sidestep his responsibilities. It was his duty and he would do it to the best of his ability. It gave him purpose.

The pain in his upper back and right bicep throbbed with every beat of his heart, every movement he made, but he could handle it because he had to. In his head, he went over the map of Ireland, determined to choose the best path to reach the CDC's research center alleged to be in Dublin without getting them all killed. The virulence of the virus was such that the military guarding the facility would likely shoot first and not bother with questions until everyone was dead. By then it would be too late.

He remembered Scarlett mentioning that the kids, Andy and Tammy, were immune. Hopefully, he'd find the siblings, and Flynn, at the center with a cure just days away. At the abandoned carnival, Andy, paralyzed with fear, had needed a distraction, and putting him in charge of keeping his sister safe had done the trick. Doyle remembered smelling the stench of fear coming off Andy in waves. The boy wasn't just afraid. He was _terrified_, and Doyle didn't blame him. _He_ was afraid too, but didn't let it stop him from doing what had to be done.

The strain of making decisions for the group combined with his injuries, withdrawal from the drugs and suddenly becoming the guardian to a tiny baby took their toll. Doyle finally fell into a deep and, thankfully, restful sleep only to be jerked awake an unknown amount of time later when Gracie started whimpering. To him it sounded like she was about to wake up, and sure enough, she was gearing up for a scream-fest.

To keep her from waking Ruby, he picked the baby up, cuddling her close as he walked to the far end the room, whispering soothing words she couldn't possibly understand. When that didn't work, he checked the time. She wasn't due for another feeding for two hours. A quick diaper check ruled that out as the reason for her agitation. "Don't worry, Gracie. Things are gonna get easier, and we'll get through it together. I'll probably make some mistakes, but I'll try to keep it under let's say seven hundred fifty. What d'you think?"

Still, she fussed, though it stopped short of actual crying. Not knowing what else to do, he hummed the tune his words brought to mind, and that helped a little. Moving her from his right to his left shoulder so she could feel his heartbeat and the vibrations of his chest, he began to sing very softly, continuing to pace as far from Ruby as he could get without leaving the room.

_O-o-h child, things are gonna get easier._

_O-o-h child, thing'll get brighter._

_O-o-h child, things are gonna get easier._

_O-o-h child, thing'll get brighter._

_Someday we'll get it together and we'll get it undone._

_Someday when the world is much brighter._

_Someday we'll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun._

_Someday when the world is much lighter._

Doyle didn't have a great voice, but Gracie seemed to like it as she went back to sleep, tiny puffs of air hitting the side of his neck as she breathed. He might not have felt it if it weren't for the still healing edge burned spot.

All the times he'd begged off playing with his nieces and nephews made him wonder if what he was experiencing was anything like what his brothers felt when their children were born and they held the tiny life in their hands for the first time. Felt the beat of a small heart against his hand when he touched her chest. This sensation was like no other, and nearly indescribable. Only another parent would understand.

They'd only been together a couple of days, but now, at this moment, he truly felt like a father.

~~O~~

Gesturing for the others to hurry, Max entered the Master bedroom of the mansion and softly closed the door. Drawing them as far from the doors and windows as possible, he lowered his voice forcing his cohorts to lean in to hear.

"We have to make this quick because Doyle will be back from his perimeter check very soon. It's imperative that the Sergeant _not_ be told that he's immune to the rage virus. He's our best chance to reach the CDC, as well as the best hope for humanity's survival. Whenever possible, the risks to his health must be minimized. For a while, he might accept a medical reason, but that won't last much longer.

"Also, this won't be a popular opinion, and I accept that, but every one of us is expendable _except_ Doyle." He met each person's gaze boldly. Alfie, as always, just stared back as if the events of the world meant little to him. The young man had scrounged gum from somewhere and was always working his jaws. "Yes, even Gracie, though I pray each day that it won't come to that."

Lukas and Clover were the only other members of the group who knew of Doyle's immunity. The retired German businessman still spoke little English though Doyle was helping with that.

"Under _no circumstances_ are any of you to speak of this even if you think you're alone. Doyle is a soldier first and foremost. Capable of sneaking up on you without making a sound."

Ruby shifted in her seat bringing Max's attention to her. "I'm guessin' it's not a secret that we don't agree with ya."

Shaking his head, Max rubbed the back of his neck. "When we finally tell him the truth, I'll take all the heat, but until then…"

The sound of boots in the hall followed by Doyle's voice startled a gasp out of Lucy, Collin and Waverly. "_Doc? Ruby? You up here?_"

Finger to his lips, Max led the way to the huge walk-in closet in the corner. They could hear Doyle opening doors as he went, calling out their names. Then the old metal doorknob on their sanctuary rattled as it creaked open too quickly for everyone to get into the closet, leaving Waverly and Alfie in the middle of the room. Max, the last one in shrugged to tell Alfie to make something up. The young man nodded just as the closet door clicked shut.

~~O~~

One of the newbies-Doyle still couldn't remember his name-told him that Max and Ruby had gone upstairs on some unknown errand. They were close to the same age, but Doyle just couldn't see them engaging in a quick round of slap and tickle while they were supposed to be inventorying the supplies and making a list of what to take with them when they left.

Still carrying his BFG slung over his shoulder, Doyle knocked on each door, poking his head in just in case. All the rooms were empty except for the nursery where Gracie slept with Clover dozing on the toddler's bed nearby. He was about to give up when the scuff of feet on carpeting drew him to the Master suite at the end of the hall.

He slowly opened the door a crack, ready to slam it shut if he saw something he shouldn't. But what he did see made him furious. The door crashed against the wall as Doyle stormed into the room, just managing to keep from raising his weapon and aiming it at the two people wrestling on the bed. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Alfie and Waverly were on the bed making out. At his intrusion, they both displayed wide-eyed shock, not bothering to answer the rhetorical question. They jumped off the bed, standing beside it, the girl looking more embarrassed than Alfie who didn't appear to be discomfited at all. The young people were fully dressed, but still, Waverly was only fifteen while Alfie was twenty-two. He didn't know the laws in England, but in the US that was considered statutory rape, and he would _not_ allow it to happen on his or anyone else's watch.

Awkwardly, the pair straightened their clothes. To increase the discomfort, Doyle looked from one to the other hoping that the silence would make them talk so he wouldn't have to start the conversation. No such luck. His voice soft, yet tinged with anger, Doyle ordered, "Waverly, go downstairs and wait for me. I need to have a few words with Alfie alone."

Nodding, Waverly shot Alfie a glance and a shrug as she left the room. Doyle faced the young man again, reining in his anger with difficulty. "I'm gonna say this once and _only_ once 'cause I am _not_ in the habit of repeating myself. _Stay_ _away_ from both girls. They're too young to be getting involved with anyone let alone someone your age who should know better."

Lowering his voice so it wouldn't carry, the soldier softened his mask of wrath a little. "The birth control in the stores is probably all expired, son. Even if you had it, why take the risk? From now on, keep it in your pants or I'll..."

~~O~~

Holding their laughter with difficulty, the group hiding in the closet listened to Alfie stand there and take a dressing-down from Doyle in which the solder told Alfie in graphic detail what he'd do to him if he went near either of the girls again.

Peeking through the crack, Ruby watched the poor lad take everything that the soldier dished out without expression. Doyle finally stopped, for breath or because he was done, no one could tell…until he spoke again, "…you get my _drift_, pal?"

Alfie calmly took a stick of gum from his pocket, unwrapped it and shoved it in his mouth, chewing it and Doyle's words over. "No touchy the girls or you'll kick my arse. Don't need to throw a wobbler. Not like she was sayin' no. 'Sides, it was a one off."

It was the most words Alfie had said all at once since Ruby had met him. That he'd saved up to tell Doyle off surprised them all. He'd taken one for the team and tonight that boy would be getting a special treat for dessert. From the way he'd been eying the leftovers at every meal, he had to still be hungry, especially after working hard all day. Probably used to eating hearty especially in the evening time. The boy might be skinny, but he was strong and never complained about the amount of work he was asked to do. Not to mention that he hadn't deserved the talking-to Doyle had given him. To go by his expression, Doyle wasn't confused by Alfie's turn of phrase.

"Good. I'll be talking to her as well." Doyle paused a moment, his attitude softening. He put a hand on Alfie's shoulder giving it a light squeeze. "Sorry I came down so hard on you. This whole situation has everyone reaching out to anyone who might provide even a moment's comfort, and that's okay. Just don't take chances that could come back and bite us all in the…arse. Okay?"

Doyle said the last with an ironic twist to his lips to let the boy know he still considered them friends.

Still chewing the gum and watching Doyle without expression, Alfie shrugged and nodded, finally smiling for the first time. "Here I was thinkin' you was off yer trolley, 'n all 'cause me 'n Waves was just havin' a bit of snog."

Doyle led the way to the door. "You might be right about the first part, and you're absolutely right about the second part. And I do mean it, Alfie. Stay away from the girls. I don't know the age of consent here, but as far as those girls are concerned, we might as well be living in a monastery. What you do with anyone else is up to you and her, but until then, the safety of this group is my responsibility."

"Gotcher. No worries, Sarge."

~~O~~

When they reached the top of the stairs and started down, Doyle remembered why he'd made the trip in the first place. "Hey, did you see Max or Ruby? Someone said they were up here, but I can't find 'em."

The boy shook his head. "Naw. Waves and me come up here for some alone time. They're probably havin' a dust-up in the kitchen again."

Alfie bounced down to the bottom of the long, curved staircase, whistling as he went. Doyle recognized it as a love song popular in the US about a decade ago. Shaking his head and chuckling, the soldier started his search again, not seeing his friends coming down the stairs and scattering, most to their respective chores.

Passing an open window, Doyle saw Collin, Oscar, Murphy and Archer walking to the vehicles parked in the massive driveway. What puzzled him was that they'd left to do routine maintenance over an hour ago and it looked like they were just getting started. About to go have a talk with them, he stopped when Gracie began to cry, torn between needed to know what was going on and taking care of the child.

The crying slowed and stopped meaning that Clover was taking care of the problem leaving him to handle this other issue. He'd just reached the entry hall when he saw Waverly talking to Lucy and Florence. The women saw him and scattered.

With the BFG slung over his shoulder, he followed Waverly down the hall toward the back of the house, catching up with her near the back door. "Can we talk?"

"About me 'n Alfie."

"Yes. I'm not your father, but…"

The girl had the good sense to be embarrassed. "'S okay, Sergeant Doyle. My mum and dad died in the first go-round while I was on holiday in Spain with friends. Guess I've gone a bit wonky since then. And don't worry. Won't be snoggin' with Alfie again soon."

The look on her face was one of mild disgust making Doyle want to laugh, but he didn't. "That bad, huh?"

"He's, ya know, a bit of, well, not much of a talker, he is." Waverly's blush deepened. "Tell the truth, it was m' first real snog with a bloke."

Leveling his gaze at her she would know he was serious, Doyle said, "Let's make it your last until you're at least eighteen, if I'm around that long."

Looking down at her feet, Waverly held her dark brown hair off her face and nodded. "'Course, Sergeant Doyle. Um, I gotta go switch out with Clover sittin' with the babe."

"Go ahead." She started away, stopping at the door when he called out, "And thanks for helping. This being a parent stuff is _hard_."

"No worries. I'm thinkin' you're doin' alright…for a newb."

The girl scurried away before he could say another word, leaving him thinking that he'd get a handle on talking to kids one day. Maybe by the time Gracie was a teen. By then, nothing he learned now would work.

~~O~~

The sun began its slow trek to the west horizon on their third day in the mansion. Doyle had wanted to leave that morning, but Max thought they should stay a couple more days now that he was actually sleeping more than a few of hours at a time. Unless Gracie woke up then Doyle would be awake so fast, it was funny. Like the other night.

Max had gone to the kitchen for something to drink after checking on one of a group they'd picked up the day before arriving at the mansion. Jill, twenty-something woman who wouldn't give her last name-kept saying she was sick, but Max couldn't find anything wrong with her aside from malnourishment and dehydration. He figured she just wanted someone to take care of her. They were staying at least one more night after this so Max indulged her. Tomorrow, he'd have Doyle talk with her. Maybe the attentions of their leader would convince her she needed to pull her own weight or be left behind. Not that Doyle would do that, but it couldn't hurt to make her think so. At least for now.

Now that he thought about it, no one in that group had given a last name. Max supposed it wasn't that unusual. Not many people cared about who you were before the virus had struck. All that mattered is that you'd somehow managed to survive. And survival wasn't always of the fittest. Sometimes it just meant you'd gotten lucky or had a bigger stick than someone else. Or as Doyle put it, you were smart enough to bring a gun to a knife fight.

As for Gracie, taken from her mother's arms to live with strangers, the baby was too young to remember anything. It was a good thing, but still, there could be lasting effects. Max had faith in Doyle's ability to handle the girl with the right amount of firmness and sensitivity. More faith than the man had in himself. While Doyle was strong, decisive, clear-sighted, and determined in front of others, in private, he seemed uncertain that he was meant to lead this jumble of characters with vastly different ages, cultures, personalities, beliefs and opinions. Instead of laughing when the soldier voiced his doubts, Max had nodded sagely and said, "_Now_ you're thinking like a leader."

What had made Max laugh was Doyle's response. The soldier had invited the doctor to perform an anatomically impossible act…with himself.

~~O~~

Doyle was just sitting down to give Gracie her evening bottle when a pair of the newbies came pounding down the hall. Hearing their voices, he searched his memory and came up with the names: John and Danny. A mismatched set of bookends, John was in his thirties, not fit, but not in the worst shape. Danny was twenty-eight and looked like he spent all day every day plowing the back forty.

Shaking his head, Doyle was still mystified that most of the people they came across readily accepted him as the chief cook and bottle washer. Even those who joined up along the way. Some stayed, and a few didn't seem to care for the regimen he enforced as a way to keep everyone from dwelling too much on their past, current and future situations. To those few, they all bid good riddance.

Following one such occurrence, Doyle had personally escorted the three men off the premises. It had been after finding out that their only reason for knocking on the barricaded front gate was because they thought there would be lots of women pining for men to give them physical comfort. One of them, a guy named Vince, had even tried to assault Lucy when he caught her coming out of the makeshift shower Oscar had built using the stream.

Doyle, Max, Oscar, Collin, Ruby, Lukas and Flo had all come running at the sound of fighting to find Vince on the ground while Lucy held the towel around her with one hand while using a tree branch to hit Vince with the other. All of which had started with her knee making hard contact with Vince's cojones. Doyle had taken the man away from the group in order to have a talk, but his pals, Roy and Milo had joined them without invitation. And between the three of them all talking at once, Doyle had reached his limit. His temper, short at the best of times though he'd learned to rein it in, had been further reduced by his battle with withdrawal.

Knowing that he sounded like he was having a breakdown, he called them more than a few choice names and expelled them from the protection of the fortress to fend for themselves. Not completely cold-hearted, he did give them enough supplies to last several days. After that, they were on their own. Afterward, he'd muttered, "Now I feel better," and went to feed Gracie.

Every time he opened his mouth to give an order, he remembered what Max had told him when asked what he would've done.

"_Giving orders is easy. Having the smarts to know which person is right for which job, whether they know it or not, is what makes you a good leader. Just keep going the way you are and we'll be better than fine. Sure, some resent that a Yank is in charge, and that you're telling them what to do. But that's okay because being a leader means you're not going to be popular with everyone. And it's not your job to be liked. It's your job to lead. So get out there and lead._"

Gracie squinted her eyes and wrinkled her nose, making the noise that told him she was going to scream loud enough to wake the dead if he didn't put a stop to the shouting and running in the entry hall.

Getting to his feet, he moved the baby from being cradled in the crook of his right arm to lying over the same shoulder so he could have his strong left arm free just in case. Ruby and Lukas had come running at the commotion and more joined the ensuing chaos making Doyle want to just scream at them all to shut the **** up, dammit! Clover and Waverly joined them just in time for him to demand, "Why the…hades are you making so much…noise?"

The pauses were to stop himself from saying one of the words that would get him in trouble with Ruby. A few looked like they'd seen a ghost, but he wagered it was something worse.

Danny's jaw was set in an angry line. "Them wassocks're back again, Sarge."

John finished for him, "'N they brought a bunch o' grotty ol' pratts with 'em."

Again, Danny spoke. "They're armed up and ready for a fight so let's give 'em one!" He hefted his weapon, his pockets bulging with ammo. Not a BFG, but deadly nonetheless.

Doyle's eyes danced from one face to the other. All looking to him to tell them what to do. Even the older men who had been in the military when Doyle had been chasing girls around the playground with a frog. Now here they all were, decades later, impatiently waiting for _him _to save their a**es.

_Sonofa****! If they'd waited another thirty-six hours, we'd've been gone. They want a fight, huh? No problem! We'll give 'em one._

"Girls, take Gracie to the panic room in the basement." He passed the baby over to Waverly. "Doc, Sunny. I want you in there too. Oscar, Ruby and Flo, take Jill, Race, Simon and Billy. Don't let anyone near them."

While the others rushed to follow his orders, Max stayed behind. "Sergeant, I need to help."

"You _need_ to do as you're told, Doctor."

"But…"

Doyle uttered an expletive that would've gotten his mouth washed out with soap and his a** grounded for a month if his mother-or Ruby-heard it as the room rang with the harshly uttered word. His troops were stunned into silence. "I don't have _time_ to explain myself. Go! Stay with the girls. Keep the door locked until you get the all-clear."

Turning his back on Max in dismissal, knowing he would be obeyed, Doyle spoke to Lukas in German then accepted ammo from Gordon with Jasper, Murphy and Archer passing out rifles. The older man took possession of a rifle not much smaller than Doyle's BFG, hustled down the hall with John and Danny on his six. The rest of the group paid them no mind. Those three were their ace in the hole. "Everyone remember their posts? Good. Go! Radios on tack two. They weren't here long enough to get to know the routine, so hopefully they're not expecting much resistance."

Alfie, who'd been standing at the back of the group, slapped a helmet over his longish hair, buckled the chin strap and hefted his weapon, a sharpshooter rifle with a scope. He also had a bandolier of flashbangs and grenades across his boney chest. "Bleedin' _arseholes!_ We should give them gits what-for!"

Apparently, now that he'd begun to talk, there was no stopping him. With a terse nod, Doyle said, "You heard the man! Let's _go!_"

**TBC**

**A/N:** "O-o-h Child" is a 1970 single recorded released by the Five Stairsteps. It was released on the Buddah label and was written by Stan Vincent.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta on this chapter. Have fun this weekend!

Namaste,

~Sandy

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 5**

As the rest of the group followed Doyle's orders, Max found himself standing alone with his charges. Nodding, he herded them toward the back of the house to a secret door they'd discovered in the butler's pantry off the kitchen. It opened onto a set of stairs that led to the wine cellar. Once the younger girls, Jill, Ruby, Sunny and Flo were safe, he took the weapon offered by Race then bolted the door from inside. A heavy metal door at the bottom of the stairs bolted the same way, ensuring no one would be able to enter unless one of the occupants let them in.

Hearing the disapproving silence behind him, Max turned to face a chorus of I-told-you-so's, but the women weren't even looking at him. Sunny had guided Jill to a seat. The young woman moaned, one hand to her head. "When will this all be over? Don't think I can take much more."

That's when Max realized that Jill wasn't from the UK _or_ America. The accent revealed her home country as Canadian, though the doctor didn't take time to wonder how she'd gotten here.

Her lack of verbal response was getting on everyone's nerves, but they all ignored it. Max figured out after the first day or so that it wasn't to get out of work, but because she was in shock and terrified, and had been for some time. He didn't know her story-she refused to talk about it or say anything at all beyond a word or two. However, it couldn't have been worse than anyone else's, and now was not the time to force Jill to see she was doing herself and the others a disservice by playing sick.

Looking around at their sanctuary, Max saw Waverly and Clover watching over Gracie. Max envied the fact that she'd probably sleep through most of their ordeal. He wished he could just lie in a corner and not have to deal with any of the bad things happening to them, to the world. A great deal of time and money had been put into locating the exact source of the original outbreak. It had been narrowed down to a specific area and within that area had been the government-run Cambridge Primate Research Centre. To this day, even NATO's best people hadn't been able to figure out what they were working on. Though it was only an assumption that it had been Ground Zero for the start of the epidemic, Max felt it a good one.

To keep from pacing, Max kept busy by reading the labels on the bottles of wine. Some were old, rare and very expensive. Mac didn't understand the need to "collect" bottles of wine one never intended to drink or were saving for a special occasion. Pity the owner never understood that _life_, that living day to day was the special occasion and should be celebrated every day. _All this money going to waste._ In the back of his mind, Max made a note to add a few bottles to the inventory they planned on taking with them when they left.

Some of the others were making veiled suggestions that they should stay here instead of moving on. Their opinions had merit, but if the human race were to have a chance of continuing, they needed the resources of a research facility to create the vaccine that Doyle's immunity would provide.

"Rethinkin' the decision to keep our esteemed leader in the dark?" Ruby wasn't accusing. Just a bit smug in the tone she used. At least she didn't say "I told you so." Maybe that was an American thing.

Leaning against the wine rack, he crossed his arms. "In retrospect, I should've seen this coming. You don't get into Delta Force because you look good in the uniform. Part of the selection process is psychological exams where psychologists and the Delta commander ask a barrage of questions designed to mentally exhaust the candidate."

"And it didn't work with the Sergeant." It was a statement of fact, and Max didn't disagree. Couldn't because he had no idea. Just an opinion.

"All we can do now is hope he doesn't get injured in this fight."

Ruby touched him on the arm. "He made it this far. I'm sure he'll be fine." Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she lowered her voice. "Now let's talk about Jill. There's somethin' not right with the lass."

Max stopped a shrug before it showed. "We all have our stories. I'd be surprised if anyone had a happy one."

"Gracie. Her mum and dad passed, but now she's got a new family who'll see to it she's taken care of."

"Yes, she does. What-"

"_Ow! What the hell'd ya do that for?_"

The shrillness of Clover's anger drew them back to the group. "What's going on?"

The teenager picked herself off the floor while glaring daggers at Jill. "She _tripped_ me. Lucky I weren't carrying Gracie."

Jill just stared at the floor as if she were alone while Sunny and Max checked the scrape on Clover's hand where she'd tried to catch herself on the wooden wine rack. Flo opened the first aid kit, searching among its contents for the antiseptic and bandages. Waverly carried Gracie away from the noise and confusion so she wouldn't wake up and start fussing. Ruby took a seat, the radio in one hand with an earbud stuck in her left ear so she could listen in on the events taking place outside. From the look on her face all was quiet so far. Just the usual chatter back and forth to keep them alert.

Max had been willing to cut the young woman some slack for a while, but this last act brought an end to his patience. "Jill, you and I need to have a…"

But Jill was gone. They did a frantic search and returned. There weren't many places to search in a wine cellar that doubled as a panic room.

"Pricey!"

Waverly's shout brought them all running to where the teen was standing next to one of the wine racks, swung out to show a metal door like the one at the bottom of the stairs. Ruby pushed the door open.

It was pitch black beyond the reach of the lights. Flo handed a flashlight to Max. He flicked it on and shined it into the darkness showing a long dark tunnel, taking a step forward, stopping when Ruby grabbed his shoulder.

"If there's somethin' nasty at the end o' this tunnel, I'd rather be m'self that it finds than our doctor."

Unable to refute Ruby's logic, Max made an "after you" gesture. "Be careful. The rifle's gone too."

When Ruby was out of sight, he sent the others into the supply room. He closed the tunnel door and turned around to find Flo behind him with a small grin on her lined face.

"Someone has to let Ruby back in, Pricey. 'N I'm expendable. No arguments." Flo had owned a landscaping business before the virus, sustaining extensive sun damage to her face, upper chest and arms before she realized it, making her look older than her thirty-eight years though her short hair was still black as night. She was shorter than Max by at least three inches and the upside to the strenuous work showed in her lean, strong body. Knowing it would do no good to argue, Max passed over the flashlight and went to join the others. Flo took her handgun from its thigh holster and prepared for the worst.

~~O~~

Sitting in the chair where Sunny had put her, Jill listened to her companions talk as if she weren't there. They all did it, thinking that she was too out of it to care. But she did. She understood everything that everyone said. One of the things she heard while pretending to sleep was a secret meeting between Doyle, John, Danny and Lukas with the soldier translating.

She knew what their plan was, but didn't _want_ to know. Covering her head with a pillow had blocked out their voices, but it was too late.

Now, unbidden, her memories showed against the inside of her closed eyes like a drive-in movie theater. When the first outbreak had occurred, she and a group of friends had been backpacking through Europe, starting out from Galway, Ireland and making it as far as a small town outside of Bristol when all hell broke loose.

Jill had seen the herd of infected coming and ran for her life, faster than ever before. At that moment, fear had made her abandon the others, including her best friend since middle school, Kristen. She'd reached a pub and had locked herself in the basement of the mud brick building, listening the screams of the others as they were brutally killed by the infected. They were the same screams she still heard in her sleep and every hour of every day. When she'd been on her own, relief had only been as far as the nearest pharmacy. Here, with all these people, she felt safe and protected, but now she couldn't take the drugs that would help her cope. What she needed was a way to atone for the grievous sin she'd committed.

_Do unto others as you would have done unto yourself._

After what Jill had done, she deserved to be put out of the community to suffer the consequences of her actions. More than a few times, someone here had offered to listen to her story. It had been more than six months, but she still couldn't say it out loud. Not yet.

She hadn't really tripped the girl on purpose, but no one would believe her because she hadn't told the truth to anyone in a long time, starting with her name. Jill was a name she'd picked out of the air when Race and Simon found her hiding in the barn, unable to walk due to a sprained ankle. Her rifle had run out of ammo two days before, but she'd kept it anyway. When they found her cowering in the darkest corner of the barn, the two men had been kind and carried her to their vehicle. One of the other men in the group had been a medic in the military many years ago and had wrapped her ankle.

Now all of that didn't matter, but something had to be done about the men coming to take over the compound. Another thing she'd learned while listening when they thought she was sleeping was the fact that Doyle was immune to the virus and had not been told. There might not be much she could do, but she intended to try. Doyle had to be protected.

When their backs were turned, she took the rifle and snuck out the passage she'd heard Doyle telling John and Danny about. Apparently he'd gotten the information from Lukas though no one said how the old guy knew it was there. She made sure the steel door was locked before making her way through the dark tunnel. A double set of steel doors guarded the exit. She locked those too.

The sun had just gone down leaving just a thin strip of pale yellow along the horizon to show that it had even made an appearance that day. There were no external or street lights, but here and there she could see the flashlight attachments on the weapons of people hiding in the dark. Loud voices came from the front of the home. One she recognized as Doyle's, but the other was unfamiliar. From the conversation, this had to be the guy Doyle had thrown out a few days ago. And now he was back with reinforcements.

Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark, she could see shapes squatting in the bushes, all armed with rifles and shotguns. As a teenager, Jill's dad had taught her to shoot, but she wasn't that good. That's why she had insurance. Patting her pockets, she checked that it was still there, comforted by the weight pulling on the pocket of her cargo pants.

A noise to her right swung her gaze around and up to see a man-sized shadow perched in a tree sighting on the front gate of the home. If she was right, this guy planned on shooting Doyle, and she couldn't let that happen. The people within these walls were good people. And just because a couple of creeps had been given the boot when they hadn't been allowed to assault the women, they were all gonna die? Not if she could help it. Lifting the rifle she'd taken from the doctor, Jill crept through the underbrush trying to find a better vantage point from which to shoot the sniper.

A few minutes later, she reached a point where the sniper's back was presented to her as if he were arrogant enough to believe no one would get the drop on him. She sighted on the middle of his back to give herself a bigger target to hit. Taking a deep breath, she let it out again and was about to pull the trigger when she heard a twig snap behind her. Before she could turn, she was hit over the head and knocked unconscious.

~~O~~

Milo carried the unconscious woman over his shoulder with Kinney following behind holding a rifle in each hand. When he reached the others, he flipped her onto her back in the dirt and grinned at Vince in triumph. "Caught this 'un sneakin' sneakin' around. Think there's more out there?"

Vince was already shaking his head. "Naw. Doyle don't let 'em patrol outside the walls at night. That American twit's too scared o' the crazies. Wants t' keep the birds for 'imself."

"Yeah. He's got a nice little set-up. All them women 'n he's got the blokes thinkin' he's God or somethin'."

Kinney, called so because he was from County Kilkenny in Ireland, nudged the woman with his toe, but she didn't move. "What if we offer this 'un as a hostage? He leaves and we'll give 'er up. After we've had a bit o' fun, of course."

"Don't you watch telly? American's are trained not to negotiate with 'terrorists'."

Shifting his feet, Milo shoved a thumb into the waistband of his dirty pants riding low on his hips due to a recent loss of weight. "But this ain't America 'n we got 'im by the short and curlies. 'E's got feelin's for the people 'e's protectin'. Won't let 'em come to harm, 'n if leavin's what'll keep 'em all alive, 'e'll do it. All we gotta do is lay down the conditions and 'e'll bite."

Several of the men gathered around looking down at Jill like they were starving and she was a steak and kidney pie. Milo felt he should get the first go at her for being the one who caught her and would say so to Vince when the fun started. But that wouldn't come until later, after they had the house and everything inside, including the women. So what if some were a bit older? The last females some of these guys had seen were part of a herd of infected. To find so many normals in one place was heaven on Earth. Who cared if they were over forty or a bit on the plump side? Holding his rifle pointed up in the air, Milo waited for Vince to say something and finally he did.

"Wake her up then go give 'em a yell. I wanna speak to Doyle again." He crouched next to Jill, using her oblivious state to reach under to top and fondle her as he grinned evilly. "Tell 'im we got us a bargainin' chip."

~~O~~

Inside, the house was dark and very quiet. Every now and then it groaned in that way older houses had as it contracted in the cooler temperatures of the night. Doyle listened to his surroundings, sniffed the air and peered into the gloom waiting for Vince and his men to make a move. Footsteps at the back of the house belonged to Oscar. The ones coming from the library were Simon's. The double set of thumps and creaking floor boards roaming the second floor could only be Billy's sneakers and Race's boots. He knew they heard him come in, but they were good men and stayed at their posts.

"Hey, Sarge!" Phoebe, a petite brunette with very short hair and limpid green eyes, shouldered the front door open. "He's askin' for ya again. That Vince guy. Lookin' real smug like, he is."

"That can't be good." She made to leave again, but Doyle stopped her with a hand on her shoulder as he dug a battered notebook out of his back pocket. "My guess is they'll try to negotiate a truce or make a deal. If something happens to me, see to it that Doc gets this."

"But, Sarge…"

"Please." Reluctantly, she took the notebook, shoving it into the front of her pants. Even in the dark, Phoebe's eyes looked wide and filled with sadness reminding Doyle of those paintings of kids, puppies and kittens with the big heads and pitiful expressions standing in the rain. But he knew she was much tougher than she looked though she only came up to his collar bone.

Somehow, the grin she flashed looked even more vile on her face than anyone else's. "You got a plan, Sarge?"

Reaching past her to open the door, holding it while she went through, he snorted. "Hell no. I'm makin' it up as I go."

He almost laughed out loud when she made a high-pitched squee sound. "Oh! I love surprises!"

Taking her place one step to the left and a half-step back, Phoebe followed Doyle to the front gate to confront the gang. "Then pay attention, Pip."

"Pip?"

With a half-grin that she couldn't see, he explained, "Short for pipsqueak."

She snorted. "What's that then?"

"A pipsqueak is something that is small and often annoying or troublesome."

Casting a glance at her as she thought it over, he saw when she found in his favor. "Tells it like it is."

Her smile and his faded away as Gordon, Nick, Fair and Ione took up their self-appointed places behind Doyle in a semi-circle as he stopped five meters from the gate. His weapon, held in both hands as effortlessly as he cradled Gracie, pointed at the ground in a show of temporary ease yet still emanating danger. "I thought we settled this, Vince. You and your herd of hyenas aren't getting in and we aren't coming out until we're good and ready."

"Yeah? And when's that then?"

Tucking a thumb into his belt, Doyle seemed to think it over. "If you'd left us alone, we'd've been gone in a couple of days and all this would be yours. But since you're bein' such a pain in the a**, we might just stay a while. Two, three months."

Vince took up an aggressive posture that mirrored Doyle's. Milo and a guy Doyle didn't know behind him exchanged snickers and knowing looks. Not bothering to reprimand them, their leader took another step forward. "I'm thinkin' it'll be much less. Like immediately. 'N when you go, take them blokes with ya and just leave us the women. All but that 'un and the brat."

Doyle knew Vince was talking about Gracie and Phoebe…Pip, but didn't turn around. He let it appear that he was mulling over the offer then stated firmly, "No."

The look in Vince's eyes didn't change, as if he'd expected to be turned down. Looking over his shoulder, he nodded once to someone Doyle couldn't see, and a moment later the men dragged a woman in dirty and torn clothing. The rips were from falling down and snagging on thorny bushes rather than during an assault and Doyle thanked God for small favors. "We found this 'n outside the fence. Thought maybe she's a welcome gift."

Jill tugged and kicked at her captors trying to get free. "Let me go, you creeps!"

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Doyle would've been stunned to hear Jill talking and no longer acting listless and depressed. He couldn't let anything show or it would provide Vince and his hoodlums with ammunition. In the same conversational tone he'd use when meeting an acquaintance on the street, Doyle asked Jill, "How you doin'?"

"Been better." He kept his eyes on her, doing his best to communicate without words. She dipped her chin once in response. "Whatever they want, _don't_ give it to them."

Vince turned around, a savage snarl on his face. The man and his pals had been with them for three days and Vince hadn't once availed himself of the stream out back to bathe or even shave. And from the looks of things, he hadn't been near water or soap in the days since either. On his leader's order, Roy slapped Jill across the mouth, blood gushing from her cut lip. But she didn't give them the satisfaction of crying out. She shot a death glare that swept over the men holding her, the ones who'd come out of the brush and eventually landing on Vince himself. He apparently found it all very funny because he laughed.

Though all he wanted to do was punch Vince's lights out, Doyle restrained himself. They didn't know him well, the others who were backing him up, but still they stood behind him ready to fight if need be. Doyle was in the process of formulating a response when there was a flurry of confusion and shouting in the darkness followed by several gunshots. The lack of buildings caused the sounds to expand until it was lost with time and distance.

Then another shot rang out. And another. A man even more unkempt than Vince rushed to his side and whispered in his ear. Vince listened then turned back to Doyle, taking two steps forward. "What the bleedin' hell are you on about, Doyle? Who's shooting my men?"

More shots rang out, this time from Vince's men, but they didn't find their targets. The men must've been spooked by Lukas, Danny and John sniping at them from under cover of darkness.

~~O~~

Now that she knew what to do, Jill relaxed. Because she wasn't fighting them anymore, her captors loosened their grip enough for her to reach into one of the oversized pockets of her cargo pants.

She knew these men, knew their type. They were bullies, tormenting those weaker and more vulnerable than themselves for fun. Now, without the threat of jail time riding on every move they made, their viciousness had free rein. With a silent prayer to whatever God was listening, Jill smiled and once again dipped her chin as a signal to Doyle.

The soldier returned the gesture, turning to speak over his shoulder to the others. With defiant expressions, they waited a few beats before running for cover behind the armored vehicles still parked in the driveway.

Jill saw Doyle's hand go to his right ear, but he was too far away for her to hear what was said though she could guess. With a grin, the soldier raised his weapon. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have an appointment. Just show yourselves out."

He turned his back and trotted away from Vince in such a way that no one doubted it was an act of contempt. She waited another ten seconds, hiding the object in her hands as she brought them around front. Sliding her finger into the small loop of metal, she pulled it out and let it fall to the ground at her feet.

The shooting had stopped, and Vince and his men were laughing and shouting remarks about Doyle's manhood at his retreating back. But all traces of humor vanished when Jill held out the grenade in her right hand. With the pin gone, the safety lever had become a dead man's switch. And when her captors saw it, their eyes widened with fear. Of her. Of dying. It didn't matter. As long as they were afraid.

With a wry twist of her lips, one eyebrow crawled up Jill's forehead as she raised the hand holding the grenade. She said a silent prayer that this one act would somehow atone for her sins. "Fire in the hole."

And she released the lever.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Thanks once again to ladygris for doing the Beta on this chapter.

Grazi,

~Sandy

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 6**

Not knowing what Jill was going to do, the best way to keep everyone safe, including himself, was for Doyle to follow her lead. Whatever the plan, it wasn't going to turn out well for Vince and his pals, and Doyle was more than alright with that.

He returned her nod, turning his head just enough to say, "Get under cover _now!_"

The expressions of his companions told him they didn't like the order, though they only waited a few heartbeats before hurrying to take cover behind the Hummers still parked in the driveway. Double clicking the radio to get the attention of the others, he gave them the same orders. "Take cover. Get away from the windows. Do _not_ come out until you get the all clear."

With a grin, he hefted the BFG onto his shoulder, saying to Vince and his pals, "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have an appointment. Just show yourselves out."

He turned around and ran for cover himself. At the edge of his hearing, Doyle heard Jill say, "Fire in the hole."

The grenade's blast knocked him off his feet and against the side of the Hummer where his people were hunkered down. A sharp pain told him he'd bruised a rib. _****ing perfect!_

Within seconds, Gordon and Nick were on either side of him, dragging him to his feet and out of sight behind the vehicle. They set him down, his back against the side of the wheel well. "Sonofa…"

"Next time, take your own advice, Sarge."

By the glow of a small Maglite, Doyle glared at Gordon. "Less talking and a little more shut the **** up!"

The concern in Ione's eyes turned to humor. "He's okay. We'll have Pricey check him out just the same."

The shooting stopped when the grenade went off, and now they could hear the moans of the men close to the blast though not at ground zero mixed in with the shouts of fear and anger from those who'd escaped injury. Doyle groaned as suddenly Lucy was there checking him over. He pushed her hands away, rolled to his knees and stood, one hand supporting his bruised ribs. "I'm fine. Go check on the others."

Lucy got that stubborn "I want it now" crinkle between her eyes that usually meant trouble, but he didn't let it influence him. Turning his back in a sign of dismissal, he heard the musician huff and stomp her way through the knee-high grass.

Ione, Pip, Gordon, Nick, a few others, all gathered around Doyle, some casting uneasy glances toward the explosion. None of them wanted to see the carnage caused by the grenade, but Doyle didn't have that option. It was his job. _As long as I don't yak._

Heading toward the gate, he resisted a smile when the others joined him without a word. Gordon, a man in his thirties who wore glasses and had been an accountant, passed him up to push open one side of the huge metal gates. Beyond, bodies lay in various poses indicating death. Moans and whimpering came from those who were too injured to get away. Most wouldn't survive the night. His stomach heaved at the sight of so much blood. Any blood really, but this was beyond the point of just making him queasy. Swallowing the bile that rose up in the back of his throat, he put on his detached and unconcerned look.

Her mouth set in a straight line, Pip moved among the bodies farthest from the blast to their right while Nick went left. Jill had used a frag grenade which had a casualty radius of approximately fifty feet.

Carefully picking his way between the bodies, and parts of bodies, Doyle stopped near what was left of Jill. He only knew it was her because bits of her pants and shirt still clung to the lower leg and torso at his feet. Crouching, he touched her left hand. It had been somewhat protected and though it was no longer attached to her body, he could still see the ring she wore. Any time she caught him looking at it, she would cover it with her other hand or tuck it out of sight behind her back. But he'd seen enough to know that it was probably a gift from her parents.

The question of why she let herself die swirled around inside his head as one by one the others came to join him. Each shaking their heads sadly to indicate they'd found no one alive. If any of Vince's group had survived, they'd fled the scene. Getting to his feet, Doyle felt the eyes of his people on him though the only light came from the weapon's attachments and a few Maglites.

Moaning reached them and together they tracked the sound to a man with most of his left leg blown off, blood gushing from the ragged end as well as from a gut wound, soaking into the ground and turning the grayish dirt black. The sound of running reached them, and because they were all still on edge, they turned as a group, weapons aimed and ready to fire.

A moment later, they were joined by Max, Flo, Sunny, Ruby, Lukas, Danny, John. More and more until the only ones missing were Waverly, Clover and Gracie with Oscar, Murphy, Collin and Alfie staying behind to guard them. Good. He didn't want the younger ones to see this. Intellectually, he knew they'd all seen more than their share of gore and devastation brought on by the rage virus with more to come, but he still felt the need to protect the younger members of their…what were they? A community? A tribe? A clan? A herd? A brief moment of humor came to visit when he remembered a movie he'd been forced to sit through at a family get-together. A wooly mammoth, a sabertooth tiger and a sloth had banded together to rescue a human baby. The sloth's words are what made him want to smile.

_We are the weirdest herd I've ever seen._

Right now he wished he'd spent more time with his family, especially the kids. He'd missed so much by not being a part of their lives, and wondered what everyone would say when they met Gracie for the first time. More humor was quashed at the sound of his brother, Cyril's James Earl Jones voice saying, "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" While Rupert and Alistair just shook their heads. Internally he winced at his mom's squeal of delight.

The man on the ground gurgled then was still returning Doyle's attention to the present. "Let's get back inside. We'll take care of this tomorrow. I don't think they'll be back any time soon, but stay sharp."

Max fell into step with Doyle as he returned to the house. Behind him he could hear the murmur of voices as his people got to work. A grunt of pain was forced out of him that the doctor pounced on. "Let's have a look at those ribs, Sergeant."

"Later." Speeding up to get away from Max's intense inspection, Doyle jerked open the front door, the thought of getting to the panic room and Gracie uppermost in his mind. To his surprise, Waverly and Clover were sitting on the stairs, the baby next to them. Crouching beside the carrier, Doyle looked down into the trusting face of the tiny child. After the carnage outside, he had to hold her, to know that she was okay, to feel the promise of a bright future for the world in her gray-blue eyes. He unbuckled the straps and gently scooped her into his arms. She wiggled, yawned and settled, one small fist coming out of the blanket to push against her cheek making her look like she was smiling.

With all the events of the last few weeks, now that he knew they were all safe for the moment, Doyle needed sleep more than anything. So for the first time since taking the leadership position, he made the decision to delegate his duties. Max had dogged him all the way, irritation in the tone of his voice. "Not tonight, doc. I'm putting Gracie _and_ me to bed. Pip, you're in charge."

"What time should expect you, Sarge?"

"When you see me." Switching Gracie to his shoulder, Doyle climbed the stairs, let himself into the nursery and shut the rest of the world out.

~~O~~

Everyone stared slack-jawed as their leader, the one person who never went to bed before checking every door and window in the building _and_ the perimeter, disappeared into the darkness at the top of the stairs. The pool of illumination from his Maglite left a slight glow then it too vanished. A moment later, a door slammed. Clover and Waverly looked as if the world had turned inside out as they too climbed the stairs and went into their room.

Brushing at the bangs sticking to her forehead, Phoebe was stunned that she'd been left in charge. _I'm not qualified! _ Mentally shrugging, she figured he knew what he was doing. _You wanna do him proud, girl, so get going._

Bounding up a few steps so everyone could see her, she turned to face the expectant crowd. All were looking at her curiously. Some included more than a touch of resentment, maybe even thought she'd been given the coveted post because she was shaggin' Doyle. A few seemed apathetic and still others appeared to think it had been a wise choice. If it was or not, they'd all find out in the morning. Without preamble, she jammed her fists into her hips and stared them all down. "You heard him. Let's get to it. Check the doors and windows are barricaded. Same guard schedule and posts as last night."

She waited as several people left the room, all in different directions. To the ones staying behind, she said, "Get some rest. We'll be having the funeral before lunch." One woman, mid-twenties with long brown hair in a braid, waved her hand for attention. "Yes, uh…"

"Rose, miss. What do we call ya?"

"Pip or Boss, if you're of a mind to." Rose nodded then she followed Alfie and Collin on their appointed rounds. A couple of the more rebellious guys lingered, their postures and the looks they gave her meant to unnerve. But she was the youngest in the family with two brothers and a sister, all older. These blokes didn't even come close to shaking her composure. Lifting her chin, she kept her gaze on them until they looked away. "Help you with somethin'?"

The one on the right, Earl, reminded her of a bloke in her A-levels class. A bully who was always picking on the smaller kids, but never bad enough to be kicked out. All she had to do was stand up to him and he'd fall in line.

"Why'd the Yank put the likes o' _you_ in charge? Seems he'd want a second who's able t' reach the pedals t' drive."

The other guy, Tom, if she remembered right, snickered, poking his friend with an elbow. "Bet she's havin' it off with 'im. Hey!"

He reared back when she came to stand right in front of them, her green eyes blazing with anger. "I'm _not_ havin' it off with 'im. And if I catch ya sayin' so to anyone else, your chances o' ever havin' kids'll be smaller than your brains. Now quit fannyin' around 'n get on your post."

Not at all embarrassed at their thoughts, they huffed and left. Letting out the breath she was holding, she checked that the front door and windows in the entry hall were secure then worked her way through the first floor. That done, she tiptoed up the back stairs, skipped the creaky fifth step and did the same. By the time she was done, it was the end of her regular shift. But Doyle had left her in charge. Not sure what else to do aside from walk around and get everyone's way, she went to the kitchen to make drinks and snacks for the others hoping that keeping her hands busy would do the same for her mind.

No such luck. Every time she closed her eyes-and sometimes when she didn't- she saw herself aiming the shotgun and killing her siblings one at a time as their eyes turned red, blood exploding from their mouths as the rage virus took hold of them. When her parents came into the room and saw what she'd done, her mum had cried out and reached for Daina who would've been married in another two weeks. Her dad had tried to stop her causing both to fall into the spreading pool of blood. They changed so fast, and chased her out into the streets as she quickly reloaded the shotgun and killed them. In death, they'd been beyond the ability to beg for their lives. So she asked for forgiveness on their behalf just before blowing her dad's head off.

Thankfully, the dreams were coming less and less, though they still plagued her. When Pricey showed his face in the morning, she'd go have a good, long lie down.

~~O~~

Breakfast the next morning was quiet without the usual chatter, each person wrapped up in their own thoughts about the events of the night before. Doyle didn't mind the silence as he fed Gracie her first bottle of the morning. The little girl had gained weight since becoming a part of his life, and he was grateful that she was thriving under his care.

The last drops of formula vanished. He set the bottle on the table and, as if he'd been doing it all his life, Doyle moved Gracie to his shoulder, rubbing and patting until she let out one of her infamous belches. Several people stifled their laughter when he exclaimed, "Oh, nice one!"

Normally, she would go right to sleep after eating, but not today, and he got the feeling that she knew something was happening and she wanted to be a part of it. He didn't see why she had to be subjected to this particular reality of life now when she'd already had too much of it for someone so young.

Getting to his feet, he went out to the entry hall and walked in a circle waiting for Gracie to go to sleep, and eventually, those tiny eyelids drooped and she was out for the count. Going back to the dining room doorway, he motioned for Waverly. She followed him to the nursery and waited while he changed her diaper. With a nod, he lay Gracie in the crib and went into the bathroom to splash water on his face, using his wet hands to dampen his hair trying to tame the longish strands he hadn't bothered to cut. The back of his head was still healing, and in the process was sloughing off dead skin.

Brushing the flakes away, he returned to the nursery, peeked into the crib to ensure himself that Gracie was still asleep and headed out again. Out in the hall, Ruby was waiting for him, her expression solemn. "We're ready for the service for Jill, Sergeant."

He nodded. "Okay. I'll be in the armory taking inventory."

"Sayin' somethin' over the lass's grave is where you'll be."

"Pardon?"

Huffing as if he'd said something rude, she took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "You're the leader, lad. It's your place to say the blessing for one of our own."

"But I didn't know her. I have no idea what to say."

"None of us did. But she was one of us just the same and died for it." Lowering her voice, she injected a note of feeling. "Nigel, ye _must_ do this. If ye don't, the damage to the confidence these people have in your guidance will be considerable. Maybe beyond repair. And without their faith in you as the one who can get us safely back to civilization, we might as well give up now and just let the infected have at us."

He paused, thinking over what the older woman was saying, and in that space, he saw that she was right. Without the compliance to his commands in the times it's called for, they wouldn't be able to function as a community and he wouldn't be able to keep everyone from harm.

What he didn't know, was how Jill had gotten out in the first place, though now that he thought about it, she probably overheard at least one conversation he had with John, Danny and Lukas about the secret passage in the wine cellar and their plans should anyone oppose their occupancy of the mansion. Not one to back down from a challenge, he accepted her viewpoint. "Thanks for the reminder, Ruby. I just have one request."

She headed for the stairs and they descended together. "What's that then?"

"_Don't_ call me Nigel. I hate the name so much I even made my family call me Doyle."

The frown of disapproval returned to her lined face and he knew that another lecture was in the making. "It was the name your mum and dad chose for ye, and using it's a way to honor them that brought ye into the world." She waved her arms and let her hands fall to her sides. "Such as it is. But the fact that all of us are still alive is proof that the good Lord has given us lowly mortals one more chance to get it right."

She had more to say and Doyle didn't have to wait long to hear it. "Ye should have a long talk with Pricey."

"Doc? Why?"

She smiled sadly, giving his arm another squeeze. "Just speak to him."

"Okay." Holding the front door, he motioned her out ahead of him to find the entire group in the far corner of the front lawn waiting anxiously. Pretending to scratch his nose, he murmured, "This is why I never became an officer."

Ruby covered a laugh with a cough then they both put on their serious faces in time to join their people gathered around an open grave. A figure meticulously wrapped in sheets had been placed in the bottom. Wishing he still had his uniform, Doyle glanced over the group then back to Jill's still form. "Jill was…she was only here a few days and we didn't really get a chance to know her, or she us. But by her final act, she…"

Doyle couldn't think what to say. Max had told him that Jill was from Canada-Ontario or Alberta had been his best guess. Other than her name and the occasional "thanks" when served a meal, she hadn't said more than a few words until last night. "…she illustrated her wish that the world go on. That _we_ go on, certain that humanity's darkest hour would eventually bring us to our finest.

"Someone said, 'these are the times that try men's souls.' They were right, but without trials over which to triumph, we would never know how lucky we are." There were a few sniffles and above them Doyle heard the unmistakable sound of Gracie crying. Looking over his shoulder and up, he saw Waverly at the window, swaying and patting the baby's back. She saw him, and the others looking, and shrugged sheepishly. Waving for her to come down, he wracked his brain for something else to say that wasn't corny and unoriginal, but couldn't come up with anything. He was a doer, not a talker. If his companions sensed his doubt, they were good enough not to mention it.

Waverly's footsteps rustled the long grass as the teenager carried the screaming child to him. Rolling his eyes, he recognized her I'm-mad-as-h***-and-I'm-not-gonna-take-it-anymore cry. Instinctively, he held out his hands for Gracie as Waverly reached the group. "What's wrong sweetheart? Come to Daddy."

As soon as she felt his touch, Gracie quit crying. And too late he realized what he'd said when giggles came from Clover, Lucy, Flo, Pip, Collin and stifled snickers from Max and a few others. To distract them, he cradled Gracie in the crook of his right arm and faced them again. "Let's recite the Lord's prayer. I think I remember it. If that's not your thing, just close your eyes and hum the theme from _Jeopardy_."

~~O~~

The two guys from the night before watched Pip warily to see if she would report their behavior to Doyle, exchanging looks and shrugs as they approached the soldier. Turning away from them to help fill in Jill's grave, she eavesdropped on their conversation.

As always, Earl started. "Hey, Sarge. What'll we do with the bits of them wankers spread all over? The animals had a bit of a snack durin' the night, but there's still lots out there, and it won't be smellin' good after sittin' in the sun all day."

Doyle seemed to think it over though Pip knew he'd made up his mind seconds after the blast. They might've been truly bad people, but they deserved a decent burial, if for no other reason than that the smell of rotting flesh would make everyone sick.

"Bag and tag."

A look over her shoulder confirmed that Earl and Lee exchange befuddled expressions before Lee said, "Pardon?"

With more patience than she knew Doyle possessed, he explained, "Dig a mass grave and dig it deep, just in case. Put a marker on Jill's." There was a long silence then a baby-like sneeze broke the tension. Doyle looked down to see Gracie looking back at him as if nothing had happened, making him grin. "Take as many as you need to get the job done before nightfall."

Tom shifted his feet. "Will do. Want we should let ya know so's ya can say a few words?"

"No. Just dig, drop, cover. They're not gettin' another minute of our time."

Now that the baby was finally asleep, Doyle headed for the house. Pip fell into step next to him, silently thanking him for shortening his stride so she wouldn't have to run to keep up. "What next, Sarge?"

Keeping his voice low and one big hand over Gracie's back, he said, "Send Collin, Oscar, Murphy, Archie, Dean, Danny and Billy back into town for two more vehicles. Trucks, er, lorries or SUV's. As soon as they're roadworthy, we're getting the h*** out of Dodge."

"Dodge?"

"Time to move on, Pip. Before we get too comfortable."

She resisted making a mocking salute, becoming infected with his urge to be on the move again. "Where will you be?"

"Putting Gracie back to bed then off to see the doc."

Without waiting for an answer, he sped up and was gone, leaving her wondering why he needed to see Max. He didn't look ill. Could be about Gracie or maybe Doyle wanted to talk strategy with his second.

Pip saw a group of people loitering around like lost lambs. Taking out the notebook she hadn't yet returned, she quickly flipped through it to get an idea of what Doyle had in mind for the immediate future, finding the answer a few pages in. "You lot! Go to the armory and begin inventorying. Bring the list to me when you're done. Ruby and Lukas, not sure how we'll feel about lunch so make it something simple, okay? Oh, and do a quick inventory as well."

A chorus of "Yes, miss" greeted her as they trooped past and into the house. Sticking her thumbs in the waistband of her pants in imitation of Doyle, she surveyed the people and jobs being done, seeing that she was the only one not actively engaged in work. And work was necessary, not only for the community. For her own peace of mind too. Some people would've turned to drugs or drink, but she never was one to wish or wash her troubles away.

What happened was in the past and nothing could change it. With time, seeing her family's faces in her dreams would get better. And if what she heard Pricey talking about was true, the salvation of the human race was upstairs with his daughter changing her diaper. Pip's job at the moment was to keep things going while he tended to business with Gracie and the doctor.

As she neared the front door, she heard loud voices. Doyle's was angry, Pricey's calm and reasonable. Most of the time, Doyle was composed and in control, but now and then he lobbed a few choice words into the air to be caught by some unsuspecting, or not, individual who deserved it, mostly. Others didn't. They were just convenient targets, and they seemed to sense it and didn't respond in kind.

Not wanting to interrupt the men, Pip went outside the gate to help with the mass grave being dug.

~~O~~

Max bore the brunt of Doyle's anger impassively. He hadn't wanted to do this in the entry hall where every word carried, but the soldier had insisted. Thankfully, he was winding down, and as soon as Max could get a word in, he'd suggest another venue for their conversation. For a millisecond he considered taking him to the nursery because Doyle would do anything to keep from upsetting Gracie.

The girl performed her own unique brand of disruption by screaming at the top of her lungs. Doyle broke off in the middle of a sentence, bounding up the stairs three at a time. As Max followed, he heard the nursery door open and Waverly's strained voice as she desperately tried to explain. With gentle words Max had known the soldier more than capable of, he took possession of Gracie, releasing Waverly for the remainder of the day.

The door was standing open so Max leaned against the jamb watching Doyle pace, singing softly. After five minutes of watching the soldier wear a rut in the rug, Max decided to intervene. Pushing off the wall, he came fully into the room and perched on the edge of one of the beds. "Three reasons _not_ to put yourself at risk, Sergeant."

"Yeah?"

Bobbing his head, Max rubbed his hands together. "Your immunity to the virus and that child aren't the only reasons I tried to stop you from going up against Vince and his gang. Do I really have to spell it out?"

Doyle stopped in front of the window, looking out but not really seeing. He took a deep breath and let it out. After doing that three more times, he faced Max again, holding Gracie and rubbing her back. "I wouldn't take the risk if I didn't have the symptoms under control."

"Not what I mean." Getting to his feet again, Max chose a small rattle from the basket of toys on the table between the beds. Shaking it to get Gracie's attention, he handed it to her when she reached for it. Ruby had seen to getting the room in shape to be inhabited as it was meant to, going so far as to washing and scrubbing a large number of plastic baby toys. Gripping it in her small hands, she didn't seem to know what to do with it so Max moved it making the rattle tinkle. The volume lowered, but didn't stop. "Ever watch _Star Trek: The Next Generation_?"

"Long time ago." Max wanted to see if Doyle figured it out on his own, and finally the glimmer of understanding lit up his eyes. "You're saying I'm Picard and should be delegating the dangerous missions to my Number One? Told you before, doc. I'm not that kind of guy. And I don't have a Number One."

"Appoint someone. Just remember that brains are good, and brawn is good too, but you don't need both to do get the job done." He let Doyle mull that over while patting Gracie's backside checking for wetness. She'd eaten recently, so that wasn't the problem. It was apparent that the soldier wasn't going to get the hint. Doyle placed the girl in his care, albeit reluctantly, when he held out his hands. "Hey, there Gracie. I'm your Uncle Max. Wanna hear a story while you play?"

Again Max jiggled the toy and the fussing stopped, her eyes going big and round as he just kept talking nonsense and shaking the rattle.

"What the…heck? How'd you _do_ that?"

"She's becoming more and more aware of the world around her, wanting to interact with it. And because she's not able to without outside help, she's bored. The physical nearness-touch-of another human being is fine, but a baby needs sense stimulation. Play time. Talk to her about anything that comes to mind. Tell her about your day, how to make the perfect hamburger, about your favorite sports team. She won't understand, not yet. But hearing your voice is the important thing. And then one day, she _will_ understand."

Doyle snorted humorlessly. "Should I lie to her the way you've been lying to _me_?"

"I deserve that, I suppose, but this isn't about _you_, Sergeant. This is about your daughter." Max deliberately put emphasis on the words as a reminder of Doyle's promise to Lu. "Listening and watching those around her talk is how she develops language and speech skills. Toys develop her musculature and coordination. As for taste, she'll be ready for cereal soon and that's just a step away from fruits, vegetables and all the other good things that we used to take for granted and thought would always be there. Engage all of her senses. She'll learn from you. That's inevitable. But you're the adult, her parent, and you have to meet her more than halfway."

"So books, flash cards, toys, talking. What about singing?"

Involuntarily, Max winced. "No offense, Sergeant, but your voice isn't the best I've heard, not by a longshot. But _she_ likes it and that's all that matters."

"Thanks, doc." Doyle deadpanned. He reclaimed Gracie then stood staring at Max until his meaning came through.

"Why don't I get out of here and let the two of you bond?"

Just as the door clicked shut, Max heard Doyle say, "What should we talk about, Gracie? Oh, I know. Who do you like for the World Series?" He paused as if the baby had answered then continued. "The Tampa Bay Rays? Really? See, I'm thinkin' Red Sox and Rockies. Sox over Rockies. Now let's talk about football. Oh, and just so you know, here in the UK, soccer is called football and football is called rugby. I think. But since I'm American, we'll go with soccer and football."

Shaking his head and grinning, Max headed downstairs, counting himself lucky that Doyle hadn't hit him. The worst of the withdrawal symptoms seemed to be over or he'd be nursing a black eye about now. Just as he reached the bottom step, Shahira came running from the kitchen, her dark Indian eyes wide.

"Pricey! Ruby's cut herself and the bleeding won't stop."

Stopping to grab the first aid kit, Max rushed to the back of the house to work on his next patient.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Thanks go out again to ladygris for the Beta. As they're headed for Ireland:

_A Thiarna, déan trócaire.  
A Chríost, déan trócaire._

~Sandy

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 7**

After tending to Ruby's injury, Max returned to the entry hall not sure where to pitch in. To continue the research required more resources than he and Sunny had at their disposal. And with the group moving on soon, any experiments he could MacGyver wouldn't be complete before they had to tear it down for transportation. Then there was that other concern, but nothing could be done about it unless the CDC had what he needed when they reached Dublin _and_ it wasn't too late.

Going into the room called the surgery, he sat down at the ornate antique desk. Pulling a yellow lined tablet to him, he looked over the notes he'd already made. While most people would forget where they were going with what was clearly an incomplete thought, Max picked up exactly where he left off, filling page after page until his right hand began to cramp from holding the pen.

Pushing away from the desk, Max rubbed his eyes and yawned. What he needed now was outside stimulation to keep himself awake for the rest of the day or he wouldn't sleep tonight. On many occasions he'd offered to take a guard shift, but Doyle put his foot down every time, refusing to let their only doctor, Sunny, Clover and Waverly to endanger themselves unnecessarily. And now that the soldier knew of his immunity, Max foresaw many occasions where he would put his life at risk for just that reason. On that account, Doyle was correct. If they came across infected, he would be the logical choice to lead the assault. But he was also the most valuable member of their team. Max had tried to explain, and though he knew his arguments to be sound, Doyle hadn't seen it that way. Max made no apologies for his actions and wouldn't.

Out in the entry hall again, he heard sounds he hadn't heard in months. Laughter, real and canned, mixed with a high-pitched nasally voice saying, "Did I do that?" Following the sounds into the sitting room, he found a mixed group huddled around a television watching a classic episode of the sitcom_ Family Matters_ featuring Steve Urkel, the character made famous by actor Jaleel White. The television and DVD player had been hooked up to several car batteries by Oscar who stood at the back of the group looking smug.

Max found a seat on the periphery, amazed at the change in the overall feel of the room. It was as if this reminder of their former lives had lifted their spirits in a way that just pinning their hopes on Doyle as their savior hadn't. It gave them more to strive for than just making it to Ireland with no idea what to expect beyond that.

This particular episode allowed Jaleel White to expand his acting range through a genetic experiment performed by Urkel. In it, Urkel suppressed his "nerd" gene while enhancing his recessive "cool" gene turning him into the stylish and sophisticated Stefan Urkelle. And that gave Max an idea for replicating the immunity factor in Doyle's blood. The genetic element that gave the soldier his immunity had resisted all efforts at duplication with their limited resources, but that wouldn't always be the case.

Tapping Sunny on the shoulder, he motioned for her to follow him, returning to the surgery with all sorts of ideas, theories and hypotheses flying back and forth between them.

~~O~~

Lucy had known she wanted to make music since she was a child, and though they thought it a ridiculous endeavor, her parents and brother stood behind her, doing what they could to help realize her dream. It hadn't been their fault that the only gigs she could get were in pubs, subways and on street corners. It had been during one of her outdoor "concerts" that she'd first encountered the infected. She'd gotten away by using her guitar to bash in the heads of the ones chasing her. That had been during the first outbreak.

When it happened the second time, she'd been prepared for it by hiding a gun and ammunition in the bottom of her hobo bag, as she called it. While in the refugee camp, she had befriended one of the soldiers protecting the residents and he'd been kind enough to teach her how to shoot. Though her skills still left something to be desired, she managed to stay alive and make it out of the city after the second outbreak. She'd been running from the infected when she came upon Pricey, Ruby and Collin carrying the unconscious Doyle just as they reached the city limits.

Looking at the faces around her, Lucy saw how the simplicity of a thirty-minute television show had changed everyone's outlook though she didn't get all the references. Sure, their triumph over the bad guys had pumped them up somewhat, but they needed more.

She tiptoed out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen to talk to Ruby. The older woman had a bandage on her left hand, using it as an excuse to put Lucy to work chopping vegetables while she argued with Lukas. Eventually they wound down giving Lucy a chance to put forth her proposal, not surprised when Ruby told her it was a great idea. Just that morning, Doyle had announced that they would be staying two more days then they'd be gone, and Lucy thought they should go out in style with a party. She wanted it to be a surprise for the Sergeant, but Ruby was right when she urged her to get Doyle's okay.

As soon as she could make her getaway, she went looking for their leader, finding him at the stream out back by following the sound of his singing. "Sarge?"

The singing cut off abruptly. "Yeah?"

His voice was wary and Lucy wondered if she'd accidentally caught him doing something embarrassing. A sheet was hanging over the branch of a tree and that usually signaled that someone was showering. "Sorry! Didn't mean to interrupt personal time."

The stall had tarps draped around it to give the bather some measure of privacy. "It's fine. Come on in." When she hesitated, he added, "I'm decent."

Hearing the smirk in his voice, she was tempted to make a quip that could backfire on her. She already knew the soldier had little modesty, and challenging him might get them both into trouble. _Sotto voce_, she muttered, "That's a shame."

"What?"

Sweeping the sheet aside and following the path to the shower, she came to a stop far enough away that he'd know she wasn't trying to have a peep. All she could see of Doyle was from the middle of his chest up as he tugged the rope that let the water flow directly into his face and down his front and back.

"Sarge! You said you was dressed." Trying to sound indignant, she failed miserably.

"Said I was _decent_. Big difference." That smirk was right there for her to see as he sloughed the excess water from his face and hair with both hands then started drying off. "What's up?"

"Ruby 'n me got to talkin' and had this idea. Seein' as we shove off day after tomorrow, we were thinkin' about a bit of a do."

His eyebrows met over his nose as he dried his chest and arms then flipped the towel around his back, pulling it back and forth. "A party?"

"Yeah. I found a guitar in the music room so I'll play some. And the fellas found some movies to watch. I can also see if anyone has hidden talents they'd like to show off. Won't be nothing posh."

"Don't see why not." Bending down to get dressed, Doyle's voice was slightly muffled by the heavy tarps. "And don't ask me to sing."

"Not shy, are ya?" Lucy was mocking him and he knew it, and she knew he knew it. These bantering conversations had started the day she'd planned on leaving, reminding her of her younger brother, Connor. He'd just gone seventeen with the first go-round of the virus.

Lucy had been living in London, working at an elegant café waiting tables, and most evenings would play in the subway stations and clubs. That's where she was when it all went arse over elbow. She still missed having Connor to tease, and him givin' it back. And that's what this felt like with Doyle. "_Do_ ya have any talents?"

"Shooting things."

"Right. I've got you down as no. We're thinkin early dinner time tomorrow." Doyle pushed the tarp aside and just for a half a mo she thought he meant to show her the full monty. But to her relief, though shirtless and barefoot, he was wearing pants. He had what the yanks called six-pack abs and sculpted pecs. In spite of the scars marring his chest, he was quite dishy with light blue eyes and sandy hair turned brown by the water, but she still didn't fancy him. Those feelings were reserved for another. It was just as well. He had this lot and the babe to look out for. No time to be pissin' about. "It'll be all over and done with by sundown."

"Sounds like fun." After pulling a T-shirt on over his head, Doyle grabbed his boots, dirty clothes and jacket. From the pocket he took a pair of clean socks as he fell into step beside her. "And Gracie loves music. The poor deluded thing even likes _my_ singing."

He said it with a shake of his head at Gracie's unique view of Doyle as Lucy wrapped a hand around his elbow and smiled up at him. "Not deluded, Sarge. She just loves her daddy."

~~O~~

From her room on the third floor, Pip watched Lucy and Doyle walking arm in arm across the lawn toward the house, deep in conversation looking as if they were out on a date. Doyle said something. Lucy threw her head back and laughed. Pip knew better than to believe there was more going on than just friendship. Lucy fancied someone else though the bloke didn't seem to notice. Dropping Doyle's arm, Lucy pushed a hand through her short blonde hair then trotted off leaving Doyle to walk the rest of the way on his own.

Her eyes unfocused as she searched her own feelings, wondering, not for the first time, if the tug that seemed to pull her toward the American was something real or just the beginnings of a crush. At university, she'd begun her studies in psychology, but her scholarship had been taken away when the benefactor passed on and she had to drop out before completing her degree. After working long and hard, she'd saved up enough to return part time. Only two classes, but it was better than nothing. Her job as a tour guide was boring and repetitious, but it paid the bills. Or it had until…

A shimmy worked its way down her spine, as if someone had brushed a hand ever so softly over the back of her neck. It had been warm, this invisible touch. In a house as immense and old as this one, a few ghosts were expected, but this wasn't the icy fingers of an apparition haunting the dusty and dreary halls. Pressing her hand to the spot, she looked down to see Doyle's eyes boring into her even at this distance. Slowly, his lips turned upward in that cheeky, lopsided grin that showed genuine pleasure. The one she'd only seen twice and always when he was holding Gracie. But was it delight at seeing _her_ or was he mocking her and the difference had gotten lost in the gap? Sure that it was the second and not the first she gave him a nod, returning the grin. Then he moved too close to the building for her to see him, for some reason bringing Seth to mind.

The last time she'd seen her boyfriend was three days before the first outbreak. She'd long ago decided he was dead. So, instead of longing for things she might never have, Pip gathered her clean clothes, towel, soap and shampoo, and made her way downstairs, taking care not to run into Doyle on the way. She'd give him a few hours to forget about their whatever that was then present herself for the usual nightly pep talk.

Slipping out the side door, Pip headed to the shower, tugged the sheet into place signaling someone was in there and slowly undressed. The only way to heat the water was the sun and it was frequently too cold for her. Today was no exception. She sucked in a gasp when the water hit her skin, shivering in the shade of the trees. Quickly lathering her hair, she left the shampoo on while she soaped the washcloth and scrubbed her body clean. There was no need to worry that someone would bother her. To prevent a repeat of the incident with Vince, guards patrolled close enough to detect trouble, but far enough away to allow for privacy.

Rinsing, Pip wished she could take a long hot bath with scented bath oil, candles and a good bottle of wine. If the wine was all she could get, she'd take it, and made plans on her rounds to sneak at least one bottle into her bag, provided she was put in charge again. That was by no means a certainty. She'd been in the right place at the right time the other night, that's all.

After using the towel to dry her hair, she shook her head, running her fingers through the strands to get the tangles out. The short style she wore made it easy to care for. Most of the time she didn't even need a comb. Drying the rest of her body, she tossed the towel over a branch, rushed through dressing, gathered her things and hurried back to the house.

~~O~~

Walking with Lucy, an alarm went off inside Doyle's head telling him someone was watching. He followed the directionality of that feeling up to a small window where Pip was peering out seeing yet not seeing. Then her eyes, which he knew to be mossy green, focused on him and he smiled. Why, he didn't know. There was just something about her that had drawn him from the day their groups had merged for their mutual benefit.

Doyle's mother, just over five feet and on the plump side, had ruled over her three sons with an iron hand wrapped in velvet. It was a little disturbing, but he sensed that same strength from Pip. After putting Gracie to bed the night he'd left her in charge, he'd gone to check and found her putting a pair of loudmouths in their place. She'd done such a good job of it that they'd been less argumentative than usual the next morning, even when he'd given them the job of digging the mass grave. Good. One less thing to worry about.

Many thoughts battled for his attention. The biggest by far was keeping everyone safe. Their time together was now over a month, and in those weeks, not once had they encountered the infected. By his reckoning they were due to meet up with a herd soon.

Herd…

It didn't seem right to call humans a herd, but the name fit with the mindless, animalistic creatures the virus turned them into.

He and his squad had taken part in the mandatory orientation classes in preparation for the reclaiming of London, spending an entire day just on the virus itself. The researchers who had unwittingly created it had been trying to isolate the brain's chemicals that cause excessive anger and aggression in humans.

At least that was the assumption.

And the way a bomb or a missile needed an F-16 to carry it to the target, a delivery system was needed to transmit the inhibitor, something like a backpack or suitcase. Stuff the "backpack" full of whatever you want, inject it into the body and Bob's your uncle.

Doyle snorted. Some of the sayings the Brits used were by turns puzzling and hilarious prompting the natives to laugh uproariously at the expressions on his or Max's faces when they didn't understand. Others were easy. Bob's your uncle meant _and there you have it_ or _we're good to go_.

The moment of good humor ended when he thought about what the future might bring. If the human race was able to get out of this and Doyle could return to America, should he? Gracie deserved to know the people, the culture of the place of her birth. But she also should know his people, his culture. He was her father, after all.

Exhaling loudly, he let in one last moment of self-indulgence: Pip…Phoebe. Whatever her name, he was beginning to have very non-leader-like thoughts about her. He also felt she'd make an exceptional second in command. These differing outlooks mixed and melded, tangling the strictly male part of him with the soldier. He'd always kept those aspects of his personality separate to avoid just such conflicts, and it had worked until the day he couldn't bring himself to kill the boy, his sister and Major Levy despite orders to shoot anything that moved.

If at some point he and Pip became more to each other than just friends, the major drawback to appointing her to the position of his Number One, to use another _Star Trek_ reference, would be gossip. Tom and Earl already thought she'd gotten the temporary job because the two of them were sleeping together, not even taking into account the fact that Doyle slept in the nursery with Gracie every night. Now that he had a better understanding of how to care for a baby, Ruby had stopped staying with them during the nights he wasn't on watch and everyone knew better than to disturb him once the door closed unless it was an emergency. That was Daddy and daughter time.

Coming to the conclusion that he wouldn't find his answers today-or any time soon-Doyle started writing the speech he'd have to give at the party, which was as good a place as any to announce the command changes. He'd only gotten as far as "thank you for coming" when a commotion drew him to the front of the house. Seems it hadn't taken as long as he thought for the team to return from town with additional vehicles. Breaking into a trot, he joined the conquering heroes in the driveway.

~~O~~

Standing beside the piano bench in the music room, Lucy waved to get everyone's attention, finally resorting to a high-pitched whistle to do the job. "Alright then, we have a few surprises in store for the entertainment. There are lots of hidden talents out there and we're gonna show some o' them off tonight. So how 'bout a song to get it started?"

Lucy jumped down from the bench, picked up the guitar and seated herself as Jasper came to sit next to her facing the piano. "This song is about livin' life to the fullest and not plannin' out every moment because you never know what may happen. Keep your eyes open to all possibilities in your life. Thought it only appropriate."

She nodded a greeting as Doyle came into the room with Gracie in one of those papoose carriers. He slipped into a chair in the back of the room, one hand held protectively over Gracie's stomach. The little mite's head wobbled a bit as she looked around, her eyes wide with wonder, just taking everything in. One little hand came up, and after a few misses, it went into her mouth.

And Doyle, not even seeming to realize he was doing it, pulled the slobbered covered fingers away and wiped them clean with a soft cloth taken from the breast pocket of his flannel shirt.

There was a big surprise that Lucy was saving for after they'd eaten. She'd planned on playing a few songs, some alone while she played guitar and others with accompaniment on the piano. She and her partner had done their best to tune the bloody thing. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. It also gave her an excuse to be close to Jasper, to get to know him better. If they'd met in a pub or even on the street, she'd have chatted him up real proper like. But their current situation reminded them how short life could be and that they had to go for it when the chance presented itself. And if it didn't, you had to create it. But she'd chickened out. When it came down to the right time and place, she couldn't do it. Couldn't ask the man she fancied if he fancied her too.

Jasper played the opening and they swung into "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield. When they reached the chorus, a few in the audience sang along.

_Feel the rain on your skin__  
__No one else can feel it for you__  
__Only you can let it in__  
__No one else, no one else__  
__Can speak the words on your lips__  
__Drench yourself in words unspoken__  
__Live your life with arms wide open__  
__Today is where your book begins__  
__The rest is still unwritten_

Lucy and Jasper ended with a flourish accompanied by applause. Playing to an audience had always given Lucy a great sense of accomplishment. As if she'd made the world a better place for those around her just for a while. Only now, the feeling was so much grander than before. These people had come together for mutual safety, and that bound them in a way that couldn't be broken. Whatever happened going forward, they were all in it together and they all had each other's backs.

When the applause ended, Jasper slipped off to the side leaving Lucy alone. "We heard that when Lukas retired from his day job, he worked as a clown entertainin' at birthday parties 'n such. Now for those of us who think clowns are more 'n a little creepy, he's agreed to do his bit without the fancy-dress. Let's hear it for Lukas!"

The older man waved his arms, grinning from ear to ear as he came to the front of the room carrying a bag bulging with supplies. He spent the next thirty minutes making balloon animals, juggling, performing simple magic tricks and making everyone, even Doyle, laugh.

Next up were the two girls. Clover and Waverly performed a tap dance routine that lost a little in the translation because they didn't have tap shoes. Still, Lucy thought they'd done a brilliant job with less than a day to prepare. Lucy sang again then set the guitar aside. "I see the food's ready, so let's all have a nosh then get back to the entertainment."

Lucy enlisted the girls to help her with the next song. They offered to watch Gracie while Doyle ate. He almost ruined the surprise when he refused all assistance. That is until Waverly, the smart girl that she is, "accidentally" dumped food on their esteemed leader. He unbuckled the cloth carrier, handing Gracie to Clover while Waverly uttered an apology over and over again until he smiled tightly and went to change his pants.

While he was gone, Lucy let the others in on the upcoming special song planned just for their commander. But now, the next act was waiting in the wings. Or rather behind one of the wing chairs. "Our next act is goin' to do us a martial arts demonstration. Let's all give a big welcome to Alfie!"

~~O~~

Doyle returned to the music room in time to see Alfie stride to the center of the stage dressed in a white T-shirt and black sweatpants, his longish hair tied back. He bowed to Lucy, she stepped off to the side out of the way as he saluted his audience with the closed right fist wrapped by the open left palm, and bowing from the waist.

Starting with the basic kata of Shotokan Karate, Taikuyku, he executed each step perfectly. After some light applause, he began the first level of Tekki, Shodan, working his way one by one through all three levels. Skipping the first few levels of advanced katas, he went right to Hangetsu, which took its name from the principal stance, hangetsu dachi meaning _half moon stance_. From there he moved through Enpi, Jitte, Gankaku and ending with Unsu. This last technique symbolized the parting of the clouds with open hands, and is also one of the most advanced katas of the Shotokan.

The group erupted in applause as quiet, laconic Alfie bowed and exited the stage. As he passed Doyle leaning in the doorway, the Sergeant gave him a single nod of admiration to which Alfie just grinned and disappeared down the hall.

Lucy returned to the stage carrying the guitar, again taking a seat on the piano bench. "Wow! Now was that brilliant or what? Did anyone have even a glimmer that our boy Alfie had it in him?"

She paused for laughter and light applause, nodding to Clover as she carried Gracie to the front of the room, holding her so that her back was pressed to the girl's chest for support. She belched and again they all laughed. Only three months old and already his little girl was legend, and it filled him with pride. "This next song is dedicated to our very own Sergeant Doyle from his daughter Gracie. Now I know what you're gonna say. She too young to talk. But if she could, I feel certain she'd approve."

Unlike the other songs, this one was slower, but not to the point that it made everyone drowsy. Lucy's rich alto gave the song, one of Barry Manilow's lesser known tunes, just the right amount of sweetness and sentimentality.

_I am your child__  
__Wherever you go__  
__You take me too__  
__Whatever I know__  
__I learned from you_

_Whatever I do__  
__You taught me to do__  
__I am your child__  
__And I am your chance__  
_

Suddenly weak in the knees, Doyle dropped into the first chair he came to, his eyes never leaving Gracie as Clover swayed with the beat. Again, Gracie shoved that hand into her mouth, but he barely noticed. The backs of his eyes stung and it took all his will power to keep them from tearing up.

_Whatever will come__  
__Will come from me__  
__Tomorrow is won__  
__By winning me_

_Whatever I am__  
__You taught me to be__  
__I am your hope__  
__I am your chance__  
__I am your child_

_Whatever I am__  
__You taught me to be__  
__I am your hope__  
__I am your chance__  
__I am your child_

The last note of the song faded away to sniffles from the audience though some tried to hide it, and knowing that he wasn't the only one touched by the lyrics somehow made it easier for Doyle to keep his head about him. He wasn't one for sentimentality-he hadn't celebrated his birthday in years-but it had seized him in an unguarded moment, and from the look on Lucy's face, she knew.

He was so caught up in the moment, his head snapped around when Clover came to his side, Gracie watching him with those wide eyes just as she always did. Max had assured him that she did recognize him though she didn't know exactly who he was. That perception was displayed by waving her arms and cooing. She only made that sound to him so he guessed it was her name for him until she had it all figured out. From what Max said, she should start developing a separate personality around six to seven months old. She'd passed a milestone just that morning when she rolled from her stomach onto her back. It would take a little longer for her to be coordinated enough to go from back to front, but he felt certain she'd be a quick learner.

Accepting Gracie, he gave Clover a smile of thanks as Lucy announced the next song. It was another duet with Jasper, a song he didn't recognize, guessing that it hadn't yet made it to the U.S. by the time his squad was sent on this assignment.

With his daughter cradled in his arms, not really listening or watching the show until Lucy announced the last song. For this one, she set the guitar aside and seated herself next to Jasper as he played.

Not spiritual by nature, Doyle had only a passing acquaintance with the Christian hymn though he did try to sing along.

_Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,  
That saved a wretch like me.  
I once was lost but now am found,  
Was blind, but now I see._

'_Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear.  
And Grace, my fears relieved.  
How precious did that Grace appear  
The hour I first believed._

_Through many dangers, toils and snares  
I have already come;  
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far  
and Grace will lead me home._

Afterward, he got up in front of the group and thanked Lucy, Ruby, Jasper, Alfie, Lukas and the rest of his people for all their hard work. "…Pip, you're in charge again. I want everyone's personal items packed and ready to go just after breakfast. We'll load up and be away from here no later than 1000 hours."

Then, without saying good night, he carried his daughter up the stairs to the nursery, and no one saw or spoke to him again until the next morning.

**A Few Days Later**

**Gelliswick Bay off South Hook Road**

They arrived at Gelliswick Bay mid-afternoon and though Collin, Oscar, Murphy and Archer and…well, everyone was anxious to check out the ships moored in the marina, Doyle held firm on his order that they settle in somewhere and get a good night's sleep before starting work. Reluctantly, everyone agreed, and by 1930 they were sitting down to an unimaginative dinner of wild duck soup for the fourth night in a row. Doyle didn't say anything, never did. Food was food. It was fuel for the body. Taste was irrelevant.

Gracie slept through the night for the first time allowing Doyle a full eight hours of uninterrupted rest for a change. In the normal course of a night, he would be awakened at least once. By Gracie, the sound of footsteps on the creaky stairs, too loud voices or a door slamming, but not tonight. Once everyone was bedded down for the night, no one stirred except the guards.

With dawn, breakfast and diaper changes out of the way and Gracie in the hands of the girls, Doyle led a team down to the marina to choose their mode of transportation out to the Celtic Sea and across to Ireland. He hoped that by traveling to the southern tip of the island they would avoid running into the NATO-sponsored troops, and if they did, hopefully he'd get a chance to talk to their commander instead of being blown into the afterworld.

Riding atop the lead Hummer, his BFG at the ready as he scanned the surrounding countryside, Doyle finally gave the signal and they pulled to a stop just short of the bridge. He climbed down from the turret and coming to a stop in front of the vehicles as one by one the others joined him.

Doyle didn't have to see their faces to know they were just as disappointed as he when they saw that someone had blown up the bridge and most of the boats with it. Debris floated in the water along with the barely visible hulls of watercraft that had sunk. Some of them had been washed up on the rocky shore dashing their hopes that this part of their journey would go off without a hitch. There was only one thing Doyle could say to that.

"****!"

**TBC**

**A/N:** "Unwritten" is a song by English singer Natasha Bedingfield, released in the UK in 2004 and in the USA in 2005. It was written by Bedingfield, Danielle Brisebois and Wayne Rodriguez.

"I am Your Child" is a song recorded by Barry Manilow for his self-titled album originally released in 1973. The lyrics were written by Marty Panzer with music by Barry Manilow. This song was also featured in an episode of the sitcom _Murphy Brown_. Barry has stated that this was the first song he ever wrote.

"Amazing Grace" is a Christian hymn with words written by the English poet and clergyman John Newton (1725–1807), published in 1779. With the message that forgiveness and redemption are possible regardless of sins committed and that the soul can be delivered from despair through the mercy of God, it is one of the most recognizable songs in the English-speaking world.


	8. Chapter 8

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 8**

Upon closer inspection, Doyle could see bodies, whole and in pieces, floating amongst the debris, water logged and bloated, as well as rotting in the sun on what was left of the pier. The torso of a male bobbed with the breeze, the head nearly severed making him queasy. "Stay," he ordered.

And because they were stunned into immobility, his people obeyed. Even the ones prone to doing first and seeking forgiveness later though clemency wasn't always given. Doyle did respect them for their convictions, but couldn't condone recklessness.

He knew this was foolhardy, going it alone, but he didn't want to risk anyone else for this part of the recon. In these situations, he felt especially vulnerable in his civilian "uniform" of jeans and T-shirt. Like he'd been pulled into a firefight while on vacation and his boots were the only remnant from the military.

His weapon out and ready, Doyle did a thorough search of the first boat he came to that appeared seaworthy. Below decks, it was a blood bath. A man, woman and two teenagers were dead, but the father had gone down fighting. From what he could tell, the infected had come aboard, attacked the kids and Mom before being killed by Dad with a shotgun. However, one had gotten through. Dad was dead too, a hole blown in his stomach, as well as the infected man lying on top of him, his face set in a mask of rage even in death. And blood was everywhere. Nothing in the cabin had been spared, most importantly the people.

Bile tried to shove its way out of Doyle stomach at the sight and smell. Forcing it down, he climbed back out onto the dock, glad that he'd been the one to find this instead of someone else. He backed up and raised his weapon, but before he could blow a hole in the bottom of the boat to send its occupants to a watery grave, a shotgun blast came from behind him and did the deed. Without turning, he spoke over his shoulder. "Thanks, Jasper."

"Nothin' to it, mate. They deserve a proper burial, but that ain't possible." Jasper grinned, tilting his head he told Doyle to go ahead as they systematically checked out the remainder of the boats still afloat, but that was the only one that had people, dead or alive, aboard. The rest were empty and too small for their thirty plus group.

Stopping at the ragged end of the pier, Doyle looked over the side into the water churning below the twisted metal and chunks of concrete. A small school of fish swam by ignoring the humans and totally unfazed by anything. "Let's get back to base. We need a new strategy."

"Right." The two men walked in silence for a few steps then Jasper cleared his throat, the signal he was about to broach a sensitive subject. "We'll be runnin' into it soon, I reckon. Should probably have a chin wag with the troops."

Doyle nodded. "There's something else I need to ask, but this isn't the time."

"If it's about Lucy then don't." Jasper aimed just his eyes at Doyle. "She's a corker, that one is, and I've been of two minds if I should speak up or not."

Looking down to make sure he didn't trip on the pieces of wood and bodies, the soldier replied, "Up to you. Just think it through."

A rueful smile crossed Jasper's face. "No worries, Sarge. All o' that was taken care of by a small piece o' shrapnel while I was in Iraq a few years back."

"Pardon?"

"The lights are on, but no one's home." Shrugging, Jasper stepped over a bent and crushed gas can. "The good Lord has a plan for me or I'd be dead and gone."

They fell silent again as they reached the Hummers and their colleagues waiting impatiently. They knew the answer before Doyle voiced it. "Nothing here. Back to base."

~~O~~

"…I know we're all disappointed, but it wasn't unexpected. Tomorrow, I'm leading a group east. There's a ferry landing a few kilometers away. We'll be gone no more than forty-eight hours."

Ione waved her hand for attention then stood. "What did ya see at the marina, Sarge? You still haven't said."

Watching from the back of the room, Pip silently thanked Ione for asking the question on all their minds. Doyle's eyes swept the room, not even pausing when they reached her, making her wonder who he planned on leaving in charge while he was gone. Since he'd let her into his inner circle, she did her best not to let him down. They also never talked about anything personal, though more than once she'd felt him watching her. Had even caught him at it a time or two. He made no apologies and she didn't expect one. If there _was_ something there, it had to be put on the back burner for now.

"…From the looks of it, the massacre happened not too long ago. Two weeks at most. Which brings up the one subject we've tip-toeing around. We all know what happens when someone is infected. You're lucid for about ten seconds then you turn into…"

Before she could stop herself, Pip said in a harsh whisper, "…a monster."

Doyle nodded soberly. "You understand what needs to happen if any of us become infected."

No one commented. No one needed to. They simply met his eyes with varying levels of trust and disgust. Even Pip, with as much willpower of all of them. Still, she felt the sting. Not one of them was safe.

She also knew that, despite his immunity, Doyle could still be killed by the infected. And if he was, humanity's last chance might die with him. But she also knew that he would not stay behind while his people risked their lives. He would lead by example because that's the kind of soldier...the kind of _man_ he was. Their chances of coming back alive were better _with_ him than _without_ him.

Catching his eye, she nodded once, adding a small smile on the end to let him know that she would stand behind any decision he made. And the fact that he didn't need or want her approval made her respect him even more.

Doyle seemed to take everyone's agreement for granted and no one told him otherwise. He waited just the right amount of time for someone to speak up then went on to the next order of business: the guard schedule for the night.

Careful not to trip over Waverly sitting on the floor at her feet, Pip eased out of the room and went to the kitchen to let Ruby know what was what. Doyle would speak to Lukas later. Right now, she needed to be somewhere else so she didn't have to think about the fact that their group would be divided for two whole days.

Stopping at the kitchen door, Pip watched the self-appointed cooks working side by side, not even needing to speak to get the job done. They didn't know she was there and she covered a smile when Lukas slipped his arm around Ruby's waist then swooped in for a kiss. Pip expected her to squeal with indignation, and almost fell on the floor when the older woman pressed a hand to Lukas' cheek and kissed him back.

Deciding to come back later, Pip tip-toed back to the front of the house and rejoined the meeting just as Gracie began to fuss. Holding out her hands for the baby, she cuddled her close while doing a quick diaper check as she carried her to the room where Doyle slept. At the mansion, everyone had had a bed to sleep in. Here, they had to make due with sleeping bags and a dresser drawer lined with blankets or the carrier for Gracie.

Kneeling down on the floor, Pip laid the fussy child on a folded towel, making quick work of getting her changed and ready for bed. When she was done, Gracie looked up at her with those wide blue eyes, waving her arms, kicking her feet…and smiling. Unable to help herself, Pip smiled back, reaching out to rub her belly. "Who's a good girl, then? Gracie is that's who. Ya know your daddy's a right fine lookin' man. The other girls'll be green, you havin' the best lookin' dad in your class, and rightly so. Just between you 'n me, I fancy him just a bit. 'N I think he fancies me some too. What would ya think of that, love?"

Plucking a rattle from the diaper bag, she shook it making Gracie kick harder, one small hand reaching for the bright toy and immediately trying to shove it into her mouth making Pip smile again.

The creak of a floorboard alerted Pip that someone was behind her. Instincts honed over months of running and hiding from looters and infected fueled her actions. She scooped up Gracie with her left arm and rolled in that direction while pulling out the Browning she carried at all times.

When she stopped, Doyle was standing over her, his arms crossed and his mouth turned up in a grin that reached his eyes making them crinkle at the corners. "Nice reflexes, Pip."

"Lucky I didn't shoot you, Sarge. Sneaking up on a girl like that." Setting the weapon on the floor, she handed the now crying baby to her father. Doyle whispered soothingly, the cries tapering off and stopping while she replaced the Browning in its place of concealment. Gracie finally quieted and he reached down to help Pip stand. When he didn't immediately release her, she tried to reclaim her hand, but he refused to let go. Instead, he gently tugged, and as if drawn by a magnet, she went to him, her eyes searching his face.

She forced herself not to shiver when his thumb began rubbing the palm of her hand as he leaned in to press his lips against hers. Her eyes drifted closed and she was about to issue an invitation to deepen the kiss when a noise out in the hall forced them apart.

Averting her eyes, she squeezed past him as Max came through the open door. And just when she thought she'd escape with some shred of dignity, Doyle called out, "Thanks, Pip. For everything."

Did she imagine the smirk in his voice? She doubted it, but didn't turn around to find out. Just kept going until she reached the main room where she threw herself into a chair trying not to think about the fact that he kissed her while holding his daughter. It showed that he was comfortable with being a father and with his attraction to her.

~~O~~

Watching Pip scurry away, Max knew he had interrupted something though he wasn't at all surprised. Doyle and the petite young woman had been sparking off of each other since the day she arrived. Choosing prudence over his need to tease, Max smiled broadly at the now quiet baby. "Hi, Gracie. Come to Uncle Max."

He held his hands out, but this time she didn't grab at his fingers, the sign that she accepted his offer. Max turned a bewildered expression on Doyle.

"Don't take it personally, doc. She had a scare."

"And wants Daddy. Don't blame her. You wanted to see me?"

Holding Gracie upright and handing her a rattle, the soldier nodded. "I need an official second in command."

"Hope you're not thinking of me."

"You have enough to do with being our doctor and working on a cure for the virus. I'm leaving Pip in charge and would appreciate it if you could stand behind her while I'm gone."

Dipping his head, Max agreed with Doyle's choice. Phoebe would do a great job. And while the group needed her in that capacity, it would make Doyle and her getting together a challenge. People would gossip behind their backs and that would undermine the authority of both. "Of course. Who are you taking on this very dangerous yet necessary road trip?"

"Collin, of course. He has to make sure the ship runs. Rose, Tom, Murphy, Earl, Fair, Johnny, Billy, Robert, Kira, Danny and Jamie. Collin and his team will bring the ferry down river to the dock and we'll meet 'em there. I'm leaving some of our best shots with the main part of the group. If something happens to the rest of us, you'll be well protected for the trip to Ireland."

Crossing his arms, Max took a deep breath and let it out. "You know how I feel about you risking your life."

"We're not having this discussion again," Doyle stated in his no-nonsense tone. "And even if this _was_ the _Enterprise_, I wouldn't let someone else take the lead. This building is easier to defend than being on the open road. It'll all work out, doc."

~~O~~

Pushing all thoughts of the kiss he shared with Pip out of his conscious mind, Doyle shifted Gracie when she started getting sleepy. "Max…" Doyle had to give the doctor credit for not showing surprise that he'd called him by name for the first time. "…if anything should happen to me…"

"Don't worry, son. This village will take care of her."

Doyle squatted beside the drawer that was his child's bed, adjusting the blanket as a way to avoid looking at Max. "Thanks. Uh…"

"Why don't I get out of here and let you two get some rest?"

The door closed behind Max as Doyle carefully laid Gracie in her make-shift bed and covered her with another blanket. "Night-night, Gracie."

Obediently, the little girl closed her eyes, but not before grabbing one of Doyle's fingers and holding on tight. When she finally went to sleep, he eased his hand from hers then sat on the floor next to her to remove his boots and belt. Lying down using a folded blanket for a pillow, he rolled onto his left side, one arm curled under his head and was asleep himself in just a few minutes. His dreams were not pleasant and he awakened just a few hours later.

After checking that Gracie was still asleep, he went down the hall to the kitchen for a drink and found Pip already there. By mutual unspoken agreement they didn't mention their kiss. They just sipped their drinks in the weak beam from the Maglite.

Swirling the last of his tea in the glass, he broached another subject. "I'm leaving you in charge while we're gone."

"Think that's a good idea?"

"You have a good head on your shoulders. Practical, sensible. I trust you to do what needs to be done with minimum hassle."

Pushing away from the counter, she looked up at him with a serious frown. "I'll do my best to justify your faith in me, Sarge."

Setting his glass back in the sink, Doyle turned for the door, facing her again. "You're going to be my second-in-command now, Pip. Call me Ryan."

"That your given name?"

"If by 'given' you mean 'middle', yeah. _No one_, not even my family uses my first name."

She pursed her lips to hold in a smile. "And that is…"

Rolling his eyes, he said, "You can't tell _anyone_."

"Promise."

Lowering his voice, he said, "Nigel," and left her standing in the kitchen alone, grinning when he heard her chuckling.

~~O~~

The next morning, Pip and the others were standing in front of the medical building posing as their current home as two Hummers headed out along the coast road toward the ferry landing. Doyle's orders just before they pulled out rang in her head.

_If we're not back in forty-eight hours, wait another six then pack up and move out. Do __not__, under any circumstances, come looking for us. Just find a boat and get to the CDC research center in Dublin._

She could see from the look in his eyes that he knew no one would like the order. However, it was up to her to make sure it was followed though she prayed she wouldn't have to.

After one last cuddle, he'd turned Gracie's care over to Ruby and the girls then climbed up into the turret of the lead vehicle and they drove out of sight. The apprehension had nothing to do with the attraction she felt for him, for Nigel Ryan Doyle. Again she stifled a snicker at his name. Nigel brought to mind a pretentious prat in a smoking jacket and silk ascot looking down his nose at everyone and everything he feels in beneath him. Not a rough around the edges soldier with a soft heart.

"Quit fannyin' around, you lot, and get on with your chores. Oh, and we'll be havin' a chat after lunch so hang about when you're done."

The group dispersed, some saying, "Yes, miss" while others shot her a mocking grin, adding, "Right-o, chief."

~~O~~

Watching from the kitchen, Ruby swayed and rubbed Gracie's back waiting for that all important post-bottle burp. When it came, the little one smiled and tried to grab Ruby's nose and she let her. They'd brought along a carrier and Ruby set Gracie into it and gave her a rattle to play with. Lifting the carrier, she made her way into the dining room. Lunch was almost over and Pip had called a meeting.

Getting to her feet, Pip called for attention. "I see everyone's almost done so let's get this over and done. I've written up a new guard schedule for the next two days while Sarge is gone. If you've a problem, see me and we'll work up a change."

Pip consulted the pad in her hands. "I know this next bit won't be popular, but it's necessary. Mandatory exercise. It's important that we minimize injuries as much as possible and the best way to do it is to maintain muscle strength and flexibility."

Shaking her head at the moaning from the assembled group, Ruby agreed with Pip. Doyle had let it slide for everyone but himself. Many's the mornings she would see him going for a run around the mansion's property alone and with company in the form of other members of the group, mostly blokes. He seemed to prefer going alone, though that would change if Ruby had her way. She was certainly not the only one who saw the interest in his eyes that was more than simple friendliness when he looked at Pip. She also knew that the military had "no funny business" rules about the people under their command. Being as they weren't a pack of soldiers, there shouldn't be a problem though Doyle might not see it that way. Ruby just had to change his mind. Or Pip's.

"…the type of exercise, I leave up to you. Runnin', walkin', stairs, liftin' weights, cardio. The important thing is to get your heart rate up and keep movin'. Remember, you're not doin' this just for yourself. You're doin' it for all of us. If someone hurts their back or pulls a muscle, it puts a burden on the rest of us.

"Now we all know that some hurts are gonna happen no matter how careful we are. What I'm wantin' to do is keep the avoidable ones as limited as possible."

Ruby had to give it to the lass. She did have a way with the crowd. Even the troublemakers were sittin' up and payin' attention. Into a moment of silence, Gracie once again commanded attention by shaking her rattle and screeching loudly as if in agreement with their interim leader, making everyone laugh. The group broke up and Ruby passed Gracie off to the tender mercies of Waverly and Clover to return to her duties in the kitchen.

~~O~~

Rolling up to the marina atop the first Hummer, Doyle looked around, taking everything in, alert for any hint of danger. Collin, at the wheel of the second Hummer, pulled alongside and stopped. Everyone got out and stood in a group while still watching the landscape. Doyle took off his sunglasses, squinting at the glare of the sun off the rippling water.

Inwardly, Doyle was jumping for joy that they'd found not one but _two_ intact RO-RO ships, one along the right side and the other at the end of the dock. That meant they could take a couple of the vehicles with them, provided they had enough fuel to get where they were going. And that's why Collin was here. The mechanic was a genius with machinery. He would go over both ships to choose which would be the best candidate for the trip.

Outwardly, his face impassive, Doyle cleared his throat, replaced his sunglasses and hefted his BFG. "Let's hit it. Kira, Billy, Robert and Earl, watch our six while we check 'em out."

"On it, Sarge," Earl answered for his companions as they took up positions where they could see anyone or anything coming.

Doyle led the way toward the storage building midway out. Listening at the door, he heard nothing but the wind and the water splashing against the supports. Flattening himself to one side, he nodded. Fair bobbed his head three time then yanked door open. First Doyle then Murphy and Fair darted inside, each going through a different door.

"Clear!" His call was echoed by both men. Returning to the office area, they exited together. "Nick, hang here and keep watch just in case we missed something."

"Got it." The young man with his long blonde hair tucked inside a dark blue cap raised his weapon and placed his back against the side of the building where he had a clear view of entire pier in both directions.

The first ferry was a simple two level affair big enough to carry about ten compacts or seven full size sedans. Three Minis were parked on the far end of the deck plus one with the back end hanging off the side. The ship appeared to be deserted. They cleared the deck then entered the salon where they found bodies. Lots of them. Blood was everywhere, dried and stinking along with the bodies of women, children and men who had obviously been trying to escape when they were overrun.

That alone made the ship unusable. Even with a thorough cleaning, there was too great a risk that the virus might survive the process. Not to mention that the blood, water and cleaning fluids had to go somewhere, but the information Doyle had about the virus didn't say if it contaminated the water supply or not and he refused to take the chance.

With a nod, he indicated that they should return to the pier. No one spoke as they turned away one at a time, Doyle being the last. That's how he heard the sound. Not much, but enough that it carried in the relative quiet. "Someone's on board."

Murphy came up beside him. "What if it's one 'o them?"

For an answer came a wordless cry of pure rage. One that Doyle and his companions had heard too many times the day it all went to hell, and the Delta Rooftop Unit been ordered to shoot anything that moved. And suddenly, they were overrun with screaming, blood soaked and filthy infected. Instinct made the men and women open fire as they scattered in a divide and conquer maneuver. The infected divided too, instinct driving them with the compulsion to infect and kill others.

Doyle ran the length of the ship hearing the others firing round after round, trying to lead some of the infected away from them. No matter how many were shot, more took their place. He cut through part of the salon headed for the gangplank seeing Murphy, Danny and Rose being chased. They stopped as one and mowed their pursuers down without blinking, faces set in the same grim, determined line.

The four left to guard their backs came running when they heard gunfire, Kira jumping onto the boat just behind Billy, already firing at the infected swarming from below decks. Doyle couldn't spare more than a cursory glance in their direction as an infected woman got through the line. Her high-pitched screech set Doyle's teeth on edge, and he watched in horror as Murphy's weapon jammed. The woman bowled Murphy over, the two of them falling hard on the deck. She bit him on the arm he used as a shield, eliciting a scream from the African-American man's throat.

From his position, Doyle could see Murphy's eyes go red as the virus took over. "****!" he shouted, altering his aim, but Billy, his eyes wide with a combination of shock and disbelief, shot Murphy through the head before he could make the complete transformation.

While his attention was on the drama with Billy, several infected advanced on his position in the bow. Coming up against the rail, he had nowhere else to go so he switched over to automatic and fired a continuous stream of bullets taking out those in front.

His foot caught in the loop of a rope coiled on the deck tripping him. He landed hard on his backside, hitting his head on the bench seat on the way down. Stars popped behind his eyes and his consciousness wavered then steadied, but not before one of the infected loomed over him, blood gushing from his eyes and mouth, and streaming down the front of clothes already soaked with it.

Pawing at the floor looking for his weapon, Doyle refused to die in this horrible place. He made it this far, and he'd make it first to Ireland then home to the US or die trying. That last thought gave him an all too brief moment of black humor as the infected man opened his mouth, his hands claw-like as he screamed in fury.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **I'm issuing a **warning **for this chapter as it contains several intense scenes that are the reason for the M rating.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 9**

"Sarge!" Kira saw Doyle fall and ran to his aid, skidding to a stop and drawing the attention of the infected man to herself. She pumped several rounds into the man's torso, but he didn't stop or slow down. Backing up, she raised her aim to his head and the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. Dropping the rifle, Kira pulled the handgun from her waistband, but the man was on her before she could bring it to bear. He grabbed her shirtfront just as the staccato blast of a semi-automatic blew his head off spraying her with even more blood, bone and brain matter that got into her eyes. Hands still twisted in her clothes, he took her down with him. Revulsion forced her to pull free and crawl away, her hands pressed into the rough wood of the deck slick with blood holding her upright as she heaved great gulps of air into her lungs.

"Kira?"

She looked up and Doyle was looming over her, a handgun in his left hand aimed at her head, his thumb finding and cocking the hammer. Her adrenaline, already high, surged in the way that was said to precede the onset of the rage virus. Lying in a pool of contaminated blood and panting, she looked up at him and nodded. Still Doyle hesitated and that made her even angrier. "What are you waiting for? Do it!"

They had all agreed that should any of them become infected, he or she would be put down immediately, no questions. Yet she was still alive. Alive and able to think coherently. Hanging her head, she waited for the virus to take control of her and for the searing pain of a bullet to the brain that would follow, counting off the seconds in her head. She reached forty and still nothing. In her experience, full-blown onset of symptoms seldom exceeded thirty seconds, yet it had been at least twice that and she was still able to think and reason, albeit tempered with anger that seemed to have no exact place of origin. _The virus?_

Slowly, Doyle lowered the weapon to his side, though Kira noted he hadn't released the hammer or put the safety on. The pounding of footsteps came toward them and stopped, her head whipping around at the sound, her teeth bared in a snarl at the interruption. Johnny and Jamie raised their rifles, lowering them again when Doyle raised a hand. "Wait."

He crouched next to her, his left elbow resting on his thigh, the weapon still ready to fire, and touched her tentatively on the shoulder careful to avoid the blood and gore. It made her want to scream obscenities at him. Instead, she lifted her eyes to his pleading for him to do something, _anything_. "What-what's ha-happening to me, Sarge?"

Collin shifted his feet. "Why didn't she turn? If she's immune, Doc and Sunny woulda known, right?"

Nodding, Doyle agreed with the mechanic. "How many did we lose?"

"Five. Tom, Nick, Robert, Earl…and Murphy."

A long exhalation escaped from Doyle as he got to his feet. Murphy had been the vicar of a church in a small village and the sole survivor.

"Crap." They'd all gotten used to Doyle swearing up a storm when things didn't go his way. Certain that more was to come, they waited, but that's all he said. "Collin, take Fair, Johnny and Rose. Check out the other ship. If anything looks at all out of place, _don't_ go aboard. Come back and we'll work on plan D."

The mechanic's eyebrows met over his nose in puzzlement. "Plan _D?_"

"Plan A was none of this happening. Plan B, the marina and plan C, the ferry." No one asked for details. None were needed. Without a word, the three men and one woman followed his order, each tossing one last glance at Kira before climbing onto the pier.

Surprising them all, Kira managed a small laugh. "The ****ing story o' my _life_. Can't even _die_ right."

"Can you stand?" His voice was soft, more gentle than at any other time except when he spoke to or about his daughter.

Getting to her knees, she was overcome by a brief moment of vertigo. Doyle reached out to help her, but she put a stop to it. "Don't!"

Slowly, she brought herself to standing and, her chin coming up until she could look into the soldier's concerned blue eyes. Turning, she felt more than heard the others tense up, waiting for her to go bonkers so they could put her down. Not that they wanted to, mind you. But they did have a right to defend themselves.

"How do you feel?"

Wiping some of the blood and tissue from her face and the front of her clothes, she raised her voice in anger. "How do you _think_ I feel? I'm covered in gross, mad as _hell_ and have the worst ****ing hangover _ever!_"

~~O~~

Doyle released the hammer and flicked the safety on then shoved the handgun into the holster at his waistband before retrieving the BFG from the deck. It had skittered so far away he'd never have found it by feel alone. He didn't know what was going on with Kira, and taking her into their base would be an act of extreme stupidity, but they had to get her to Max as soon as possible. Or Max to her. "Kira…"

"We all knew this could happen, Sarge, 'n you got more'n just me to worry about, so do what you have to. Won't hold it against ya. Promise."

"Not happening. At least not yet. We'll figure something out."

Jamie, the third woman in the group, raised her hand. "Sarge, I know ya didn't say to, but I packed a couple o' them hazmat suits in with our supplies. We could maybe put her in one o' them."

"Good idea. You and Danny go find us a place to clean up then come back. We'll meet at the end of the dock." He looked down at Kira, her left eye bloodshot while the right had stayed brown. "I assume you'd like a shower?"

"Don't be such a _git!_ O' course I want a ****ing shower! Why you gotta be such a ****ing arsehole all the time?!" Kira tossed that last over her shoulder as she headed for the gangplank.

Billy and Fair parted to let Kira and Doyle pass, giving them both a wide berth, all the while waiting for her to go berserk. Doyle kept several paces to her rear all the way, and the two men fell into step on his six. His head was pounding from where he'd smacked it when he fell. Probing the area with his fingers, he found a lump. No blood proved that it hadn't broken the skin. When he spoke to Max about his immunity, Max told him that for the antibodies to show in his blood, he had to have been exposed to the virus at some point. Major Levy had been the only one injured and she hadn't turned so it couldn't have been her. Andy and Tammy had been immune carriers like their mother, and he had touched the boy that day at the abandoned amusement park. That had to be where he'd been infected.

Now, he had infected blood all over him and felt no more than his normal level of irritation at the world in general. One of the buildings on the other side of the coast road had to have a place where they could wash off the blood. He would take Kira inside and help her clean up. They could get her into a suit when it was time to go, just to be safe then destroy the building so no one else would become infected accidentally.

The trip from their base had only taken an hour by Hummer. It would take much longer walking, and they didn't really have the time so, on the return trip, Doyle and Kira would ride in one vehicle while the rest rode in the other. Collin, Johnny, Fair and Rose would go on the ferry and meet them there. Now that he had a tentative plan, Doyle felt more in control of the situation.

The recent events got him to thinking about his family and something tickled at the back of his mind. His sister-in-law, Josie, had taken medication for post-partum depression after his nephew Christopher was born and his mother took something for epilepsy making him wonder if some types of meds, or combinations, could keep the virus in check. "What drugs are you taking?"

She muttered an oath and seemed ready to turn on him, but she continued on. "Anti-seizure and anti-depressants for mild epilepsy."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Weren't none o' your business." She kept on walking, gritting her teeth and snarling under her breath.

"Anything that affects our community _is_ my business. You shouldn't have kept it from me, and neither should Max."

Calling him a few choice names, she glared over her shoulder at all three men. "You understand doctor/patient confidentiality. Max didn't have a choice."

Kira's invoking of the confidentiality law dispelled some of Doyle's annoyance. "What happens when you run out? The doc can't exactly call in a prescription to the local Walgreen's."

She snorted. "He stashed enough to get us to Ireland. After that, it's anyone's guess. Or was." Any humor Kira had found in the situation was gone by the time they reached the end of the pier, Jamie and Danny watchful from their position in front of a building that housed a gym. "No idea what'll happen now."

Danny acknowledged them with a nod. "It's all ready for ya, Sarge. We brought ya somethin' to wear so ya didn't have to go starkers under the suits."

"Wait here." Doyle handed the BFG to Jamie as well as the ammo, choosing to keep the Browning and its magazines. Kira stayed quiet as he walked her inside, through the main workout area and into the women's locker room.

~~O~~

The gym looked much like any other. Stationery bikes, treadmills, weight machines, a room for cardio classes and beyond that, the locker rooms. The ladies room door was blocked open and Kira headed in that direction, very aware of everyone and everything around her. She didn't know or care if it had anything to do with the virus, but being so close to another human who was not infected created this magnetic pull in their direction. Only the thought that something inside her was keeping the virus in check helped her cling to the bits and pieces of her tattered sanity. Kira wondered if it was anything like what someone suffering from bipolar disorder felt every day.

Paying no attention to Doyle, Kira toed off her shoes, kicking them into a far corner out of the way. She tried several times to open the front of her trousers, but her hands shook with the amount of adrenalin surging through her system.

Doyle moved so quickly she jumped when he gently removed her hands, opened the snap and drew the zipper down to the bottom. He curled his fingers over the waistband of her trousers, pulling them down and taking her undies along for the trip. One side of her mouth quirked upward a fraction of an inch. "The first time in over a year a bloke's gettin' into my trousers and it has to be _you._"

"That a problem?" His tone said he knew she wasn't chattin' him up.

She steadied herself by gripping the counter to lift each foot from the trouser leg. "Hell, _yeah_. No offense, Sarge, but I don't fancy you as more'n a friend."

"Thanks. I think."

After discarding the ruined pieces of cloth, Doyle went right to helping her off with the T-shirt. It was one of her favorites, having the name of a band whose music she enjoyed on the front. She turned her back so he could unhook the clasp of her bra. The soldier didn't stare at her naked body and she wasn't sure if she should be insulted. Not, she decided. He was completely focused on his job and nothing else.

"There's shampoo and anti-bacterial soap in the stall. Let me know if you need help."

Kira nodded and stepped inside. The floor of the stall was wet meaning that Danny or Jamie had established that the water was running. Turning the knobs, she adjusted the stream to a comfortable temperature though the spray hitting her skin upped her anger quotient by more than a few points. This heightened sensitivity of her senses must be another aspect of the virus that had only been speculated upon by the doctors, to hear Sunny and Max tell the story. With the sound of the shower covering it, she snorted with wry humor. Now the virologist and his assistant would have a first-hand account of what it was like to be infected.

"You okay in there?"

Her first instinct was to say, "**** _no_, I'm not _okay_, you bleedin' idiot!" She swallowed the words before they could form on her lips. "Nearly done. How're we handlin' tonight?"

"You rest, and we'll take shifts of two hours each. Start out fresh in the morning."

She tried to summon up enthusiasm, but just wasn't feeling it. "Aces."

Shutting the water off, Kira sloughed the water from her face and shoulder length dark brown hair. Taking the towel Doyle held out, she noticed that he averted his gaze this time. With a shrug, she rubbed her hair, dried the rest of her as much as possible then stepped out of the stall. Hanging from a hook were several sets of scrubs in various sizes and colors. She chose the ones that were a little big, leaving the smaller sizes for the other women then she realized that they wouldn't be using the same stall as her. Wouldn't even come into this locker room. Once she'd tied the drawstring at the waist, she eyed the white hazmat suits on the bench between the rows of lockers. Doyle stood ready to help her into one, but her skin felt like ants were crawling all over making her twitchy. "Can we leave that for now?"

"Sure." He unbuckled his belt and seeing that he planned on getting undressed right in front of her, she turned her back, going over to sit on a bench that blocked him from view. Thankfully, he didn't say a word. When the water came on in the other stall, it seemed so much louder than when she'd been standing under it, the sound bouncing and echoing inside her head. Ricocheting and rebounding off neurons and the surface of the inside of her skull. Bit by bit, the urge to attack became the uppermost thought in her mind. Her time sense was also skewed, but it seemed like it had been days since she'd taken her meds. If that's what was keeping her lucid, perhaps she should take them now.

Going to the exit, Kira knocked on the door to let Danny and Jamie know she was there. "Jamie?"

"_Yeah?_" The other woman's voice was muffled by the thickness of the wood.

"Could ya bring me my bag? It's black with King's College."

There was a long pause while Jamie talked it over with Danny, then, "_Right. Tell Sarge Collin's here._"

Knowing that relief from the storm building up inside her was only a few moments away made Kira weak yet strong at the same time. "Thanks. And Jamie?"

"_I'll hurry._"

Unable to respond, Kira thought, _yes, do._ She started when someone knocked on the door, interrupting her drifting thoughts of finding and infecting as many as possible. It seemed like only seconds, yet had to have been minutes at least.

"Stand back," Danny's voice ordered.

She did as he said and a moment later, the door inched open on Jamie's pale, unsmiling face, two bags dangling from her outstretched arm. Stuck in the side pocket of each was a thermos of water.

Jamie dropped the bags and two pairs of trainers then the door slammed in Kira's face, but not before she saw that Danny and Collin had their rifles aimed at her head. Behind them, Billy too held a rifle clenched tightly in both hands, his eyes big and round, as if the young man had finally had more than he could take. _Join ****ing the club!_

Fair, Danny and Rose stood in a semi-circle behind the young man, their hands flexing on the stocks of their weapons. Kira didn't mind that her friends were prepared to kill her at a second's notice. She'd have done much the same thing, if their roles had been reversed, then cried herself to sleep over it for weeks. Snatching up her bag, she carried it over to the counter to rummage in one of the inside pockets, coming out with a pill bottle form which she extracted two tablets, tossed them in her mouth and followed with a long draught of lukewarm water.

About the time she started feeling better, Doyle came out from the locker room, barefoot and carrying both hazmat suits. Passing him the larger pair of trainers, Kira sat down and checked the size on hers. They were a mite big, but good enough for her needs. And if what she suspected came true, she wouldn't need them much longer. When she told Max about the epilepsy and refused to give him permission to tell Doyle, they'd talked about the meds as a palliative measure. It was something that had been looked into during the CDC's research, but nothing had come of it. How that would change under what amounted to primitive conditions, she didn't know or care at the moment.

"After the others get showers, we'll stay here for the night and in the morning, return to base."

"Whatever you think's best, Sarge."

He went to the door, his left hand raised to knock, looking over his shoulder at her, remorse there for her to see. Regret, guilt, shame. Whatever it's called, he blamed himself for her current condition, but before she could reassure him, his features went blank as knocked and the door opened. He stepped outside to talk with their companions.

A little while later, Doyle stood guard between Kira and the others as, one at a time, they went into the second locker room to clean up. When the last of them, Billy, exited the building, Doyle went out with him, coming back with packets of food.

"Can you eat something?"

Too tired now to bother with shrugging, she accepted the package he handed her. "Guess we'll see."

~~O~~

They spent the next few minutes intent on their uninspiring meals. When done, Doyle carried the empty packages to the counter and dropped them in a trashcan. Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms, watching her. The eye-opener about having a possible life-threatening illness disturbed him more than he let on. Confidentiality be damned! By not telling him, they'd made it that much harder for him to keep everyone out of harm's way. He and Max would have a long talk when they got home.

Going into the men's locker room, he found stacks of towels in a closet and men's clothes in some of the lockers. He had clothes in his bag, but he'd just lost an entire set as did the rest of the team. They'd take what they needed from here or stop at a shop in town before heading back after breakfast.

Collin had pronounced the ferry a barge and that it was ready for passengers and cargo. He already had a plan for them to be able to load at least three of their vehicles, maybe four now that there were fewer people. The mechanic, Fair, Rose and Johnny would pilot the ship back, taking it slow and easy. As soon as Max and Sunny had done any and all possible testing on Kira and him their next stop would be Ireland.

To let Kira know he wasn't afraid to be near her, Doyle carried a stack of towels to her and she accepted them with a gloomy smile then sat holding them in her lap. She was still in that position when he returned with a second stack.

Taking the towels from Kira's lax hands, he went into the locker room, spread one out on a cushioned bench and folded a second one into a pillow. When she didn't come of her own free will, he got up and waited for her to join him, leading her to the makeshift bed.

Standing there staring at the floor, in a bone weary voice she asked, "What if I turn durin' the night? I don't wanna kill none o' you."

"Let _me_ worry about that. Just get some sleep. Uh, if you need someone to talk to…"

"I'll come to you. Or you'll come to me because I 'spect I'll be locked away, especially when we get to the research place." She sat down and swung her legs up onto the bench. "Unless someone has to do me in before."

"What I was gonna say is if you need someone to talk to, speak to Pip. She studied psych in college. I'm just a man who used to get paid to serve and protect."

Lying back, she turned onto her side, one arm curled under her head and the other draped over her stomach. "You'll be at it again 'fore long, Sarge. I'm sure."

"That makes one of us." Setting a Maglite on the floor within reach, he covered her with another towel then used another to find his way back out to the door where he let the others in. "Collin, we have to rig up a way to alert us if Kira tries to get out of the locker room during the night."

Hindering them was the fact that the door opened in instead of out though it did have a curved handle instead of a traditional knob. They fixed that by removing the weights from a barbell and wedging it through the handle. The strength of someone in a full blown transformation was such that it wouldn't hold for long. But at least they'd have enough time to react.

That done, Doyle gathered his team around. "Two hours shifts. Me, Collin, Rose, Danny, Fair and Billy. When we…"

"No, Sarge."

Doyle snapped his mouth shut when Billy spoke up. Like Alfie, the young man seldom said more than a few words though Doyle got the feeling it was for a different reason than the cashier. His best guess was that Billy suffered from clinical depression, but whether it was brought on by the events since this recent outbreak, had started long before then or was something new, there was no way to know. "Excuse me?"

"I'll do yer watch, sir."

From the stubborn set of his lips and the hardness in his features, Doyle saw that Billy was serious. Rather than argue, the soldier let him have his way, making it sound like it was his own idea. "On second thought, I'm not feelin' so hot. Think I'll hit the sack a little early. Wake me at 0600."

He dropped to the mat, laid his head on a folded towel and pretended to fall instantly asleep, listening to the others do the same. The sounds of restlessness followed for what seemed half the night, then the next thing Doyle knew, it was morning. They munched on MREs then Doyle raided the upscale clothing store down the road. In there, he also found baby clothes, but was hesitant to take them for fear of infecting Gracie. Gauging Kira's size was harder. If Gracie's clothes were too big, she'd eventually grow into them. With an adult female, if you guessed too big, they'd be insulted.

_I think we're past that_, he thought with a small humor left over from the night before when he'd helped her undress. Doing so had given him an idea of her clothing style. She had eclectic tastes in music and preferred frilly underclothes. He grabbed pants, socks, a top, panties and a bra that would do. On the way out, something caught his eye. Shoving the last item way down in the bag, Doyle stepped outside where Danny was watching his back, and together they returned to the gym.

He handed each person a bag on his way to the locker room to change. The rest just thanked him and shoved the clothes into their duffle bags. Kira nodded in gratitude then went to change.

While he'd been gone, Collin and his team had placed all their things on board the barge then divided up the supplies. Because it would take just an hour to get to their base by land, all the food went with Collin, the others keeping just enough water for the ride.

~~O~~

Standing in front of the gym where she could see the pier, Kira watched her friends bid each other good-bye-a couple even hugged-wishing she could be a part of it. To feel the touch of another human being would be heaven to someone who knew the rest of her life would be spent separate, apart from everyone she cared about.

Going back inside, she finally opened the bag Doyle had given her, pulling out a graphic tee, dungarees, knickers that looked like something her Gran would've worn and a plain white bra. Shaking her head, she stepped into the loo to change and found a surprise in the bottom of the bag. Rolling the bag up tight, she shoved it in her duffle bag and zipped it up. Doyle had obviously gotten the last item to cheer her up, and it did, but only slightly. Always there, lurking inside her was the fact that she now had the virus and couldn't be allowed near anyone else. Even Max would be protected behind the white material of the hazmat suit and its hood.

"_Kira!_" Doyle's voice echoed in the gym reminding her it was time to leave. She didn't bother with answering other than to take up her bag and join him.

"Right here, Sarge. Ya don't have to yell."

"Time to go. I've sent the others ahead."

She looked down at the hand he held out to her, and though she wanted to take what he offered, she walked around him and out the front door. He jogged past her to hold open the passenger door of the Hummer then walked around and got behind the wheel. With silent gratitude she thanked him for not making an issue of the fact that she didn't put on her seatbelt. They'd driven about ten minutes before she spoke. "I want Max to study me. Take blood and whatever else doctors do when someone's contagious."

"This'll be his first opportunity to study someone with the virus from beginning to…" He snapped his mouth shut and stared out the windscreen.

"Go ahead and say it 'cause I won't be makin' to Ireland." Doyle's head turned in her direction so fast Kira could hear it pop. "I've had to take my meds twice since it happened."

Reaching into the door pocket, Doyle took out a pad and pen. "Write it down. Start with when it happened. Everything you thought and felt. Like a diary."

Some small part of Kira's former humor returned. "_Dear Diary, Today I was infected with the rage virus and tried to kill all my friends. Ain't life a pain the arse? Love, Kira._"

Doyle didn't respond and she immediately felt sorry she'd teased him. Flipping to the first unused page, she started with arriving at the dock and how much she missed the beach until she saw the dead bodies in the water and smelled them rotting on the shore. From there, she jumped to joining the others when the infected attacked. How she knew she would die the second she went to Doyle's aid and the shock when it didn't happen.

By the time the Hummer pulled to a stop a half kilometer from the base, she'd started listing all the things she'd always wanted to do but hadn't. Fall in love was at the top, right after snogging Prince William, though the two weren't mutually exclusive. At any other time, embarrassment would've kept her from telling even her closest friends. But her life would be over soon, she was sure of it, and she didn't want to go with more regrets than she already had. One regret was that she hadn't traveled to America and sitting beside her was a perfect resource. "Sarge, tell me about the U.S. What's it like across the pond?"

"About the same as here. Trees, water, lots more Starbuck's."

"What part do ya call home?"

He pushed the seat back for more leg room and crossed his arms. "Seattle, Washington."

"Tell me about when you was a boy. What's yer family like?"

Narrowing his eyes, Doyle seemed to be puzzling out her reasons for asking all these questions. "I have three older brothers. All married with kids, four nieces, three nephews. Mom and Dad are still around. They've been married for almost fifty years."

"Play sports in school?"

The side of his mouth facing her curved upward. "Yeah. Football mostly. Spent a lot of time in the emergency room too. Not always from playing sports though. When I was eight, me and my buddy, Dave built this ramp in the vacant lot down the street. Then we got a rope and Dave towed me on a skateboard behind his bike. He got goin' really fast, then I let go of the rope and aimed for the ramp."

"Crickey! What happened?"

"Woke up in the hospital with a concussion, bruises, scrapes, and my right arm in a cast." He smiled fondly. "Ah, fun times."

Snorting, she went back to scribbling on the pad. "You 'n me got a different definition of fun, Sarge."

She was startled when Doyle suddenly opened the door and climbed out. "Here they come."

Kira didn't need to be told who 'they' were because Max and Sunny were coming toward them wearing the white hazmat suits without the hoods, and behind them stood the biggest and strongest men in their group: Archer, Charlie, Ellis and Simon, walking like a royal bodyguard behind Pip. All were well armed and looking a little too enthusiastic about the possibility that they might have to put one of their own down. All but Pip, who had found a thigh holster somewhere allowing her to brandish a weapon in plain sight as was her right. That, combined with her small stature and a glare gave her a dangerous appearance.

~~O~~

The excited babble of voices drew Pip to the front of the building with the others. Peeking out the window, she saw only one of the vehicles that Doyle and his group had taken on their road trip. Keeping a tight lid on her emotions, she took a deep breath then strode confidently out to greet them as was her duty. "Welcome back. Hope you have some good news for us."

Trying not to be obvious about it, her eyes darted around looking for their leader, but all the faces that met hers were grave. Jamie even looked like she'd been crying. Danny, the self-appointed spokesman, stepped forward, a thumb shoved into his belt and one hip thrust to the side. He was the only one who didn't call her Phoebe or Pip. "Our trip hit a snag, Pheebs. We're to bring the doc and Sunny."

"Who was hurt?"

"We were attacked by infected 'n lost Murphy, Tom, Nick, Earl and Robert. Collin took Fair, Rose and Johnny with 'im on the boat."

No one missed that two names had been left off that list.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I'm issuing a *warning* for this chapter as it contains several intense scenes that are the reason for the M rating. But don't despair. It won't stay that way for long.

Thanks to ladygris for the Beta.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 10**

Pip shoved her hands into her pockets to keep them from shaking. "Kira and Doyle?"

Max and Sunny rushed out of the building in time to hear Billy answer Pip's question. "They're infected."

"What?!" The single word exploded out of the medical team now standing next to Ruby holding a fussy Gracie. Waverly and Clover stood on the other side, their eyes wide with shock.

His eyes hooded, Danny came forward, a hand on Billy's shoulder and speaking quietly. "Go help Jamie."

Nodding, the young man did as he was asked. When he was out of earshot, Danny shrugged sheepishly. "Don't mind the boy. He was forced to shoot Murphy after he turned and he's still feeling it."

Tearing her gaze from Billy's retreating back, Pip remarked sadly, "Probably will for a long time." She took a deep cleansing breath. "What's the word?"

"The word is Doyle's fine. He's just being cautious."

Pip noted that Danny had dropped the pretense of being a Scouser. One night, Pip and he had been on patrol together where she remarked that he looked familiar. After a little prodding, he told the truth. His real name was Sir Cornelius Daniel Lytton III, hailed as one of Britain's richest and most eligible bachelors just weeks prior to the first outbreak. Afterward, they talked about where they were when everything started the first go round. Reluctantly, he'd confessed to being a guest at Elton John's birthday party when the news came on BBC. "And Kira?"

"It's the damnedest thing. She started to turn then it just…stopped. Seems she's taking something that's keeping it in check for now. How long that continues, only Max and Sunny can say."

"Thanks." With a nod, Pip ordered four of the men to follow her as she fell into step behind Max and Sunny already in the hazmat suits, stopping far enough away to be relatively safe yet close enough to hear. When they neared the Hummer parked in front of a second-hand furniture store, Doyle climbed from behind the wheel and stood waiting. Kira stayed in the Hummer until Max waved her out. Tentatively, the dark-haired woman who was just a few years older than Pip joined Doyle. The two medical professionals dropped their hoods into place and came to stop just a few feet away, speaking in low tones. Doyle and Kira got back into the Hummer and waited.

~~O~~

The faceplate of the hood distorted everything Max saw. The suit itself restricted movement so that every gesture, whether walking or performing delicate surgery, had to be deliberate. He sent his newest patients back to their vehicle then returned to Pip, lifting the hood enough to speak. "There's a small clinic a few miles into town. We'll rig up an iso unit as best we can and start testing. See if we can scrounge a couple generators from somewhere to power the equipment we need. I'll make a list, and take Oscar. If you can't find what I need, he can MacGyver something."

"Right. Archie, take Ellis and drag Oscar away from his pet project. Let everyone know what's what then see to Max's list."

"On it, miss."

Sunny pushed the hood off her head letting hang down in back. "I'll go along and start getting everything set up once the generators are online."

Forcing herself not to roll her eyes at how strange Archer's deep voice sounded when he called her "miss", Pip simply nodded then turned to Max. "Well?"

"Won't know much until I've given them both a thorough examination. Doyle seems fine. No more or less cranky than before. As for Kira, we'll know more when we see the results of her blood tests." They all turned at the sound of an engine coming close. "Want me to tell Doyle about what we found?"

"Yes. Oscar should have it working soon."

Pip's eyes searched the area for nothing in particular and that meant there was a subject she wanted to raise but didn't know how. She'd bring it up when it suited her to and not before. No need in rushing. Together they headed back toward the base. "Archer, Ellis and their cronies can do all the heaving lifting. They're not well-educated, but they take orders well."

"Thanks. Sunny and I'll sleep at the clinic. And don't worry. We'll figure this out."

"I know."

Flashing their interim leader a comforting smile, Max broke into a jog. As he turned a corner, he looked back to see Pip watching the Hummer where Doyle and Kira still sat. The engine started, Doyle backed up and pulled out into the street, taking a side road to the clinic. When they were gone, Pip's voice rang out.

"Alright you lot, let's get back home. Ruby and Lukas will have lunch ready soon. After, we'll have another meetin' to work out a new schedule of chores now that we're split up again."

This time there was no chorus of "yes, miss" as they dispersed.

~~O~~

With Doyle out of action for God knew how long, keeping their moral up was Pip's job. When the guys were done setting up the generators, Pip would have Oscar hook a DVD player up to the telly and show a few movies or some such to help take their minds off the letdown they'd all been served. Maybe it was time to have another party. They could celebrate Doyle's return to active duty, as he put it. That alone deserved at least a song from Lucy and Jasper.

Flo was on guard at the front door when Pip arrived, the older woman slapping a hand to her forehead in an exaggerated salute. "Welcome back, Miss Phoebe, ma'am. How's Sarge?"

"Didn't get to talk to him direct. Chompin' at the bit that he'd gotta be confined, I'm sure."

Flo pursed her lips, a glint of mischievousness in her eyes. "Yeah. That's it."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean it's probably _Gracie_ he's wantin' t' see."

Pip's cheeks burned with embarrassment. If Flo knew how she felt about Doyle, then everyone had to know, yet no one had seen fit to comment on it _or_ the fact that she was the 2IC, chosen over the men with military training. Not honoring Flo's remark with a comment, Pip went in search of Lucy, changing directions when Gracie began to cry. She followed the sound to Doyle's room to find Ruby walking the floor and rubbing the baby's back soothingly. "What's wrong with her?"

"She misses D-o-y-l-e."

"Why're you spellin'? She's a _baby_."

Shifting Gracie around to the other shoulder, Ruby kept walking and Pip kept pace with her, the two women staying in step. "'Cause every time she hears his name, she gets excited thinking he's come home, and when he don't, she's disappointed. And a disappointed Gracie can cry loud enough t' be heard in Edinburgh."

"Got ya. I'll just go hunt up our resident party girl. It's time we had another bash."

Out in the hall, Pip shook her head. As she neared the large waiting room they used as a common area, she heard the unmistakable sounds of kissing, tracking it to a supply closet at the end of the far end of the hall. Not even thinking what she might see, she yanked open the door to find Lucy and Jasper snogging like there was no tomorrow. So involved were they that neither of them noticed her intrusion. Backing up, she closed the door again and walked away.

That evening after dinner, Pip went to her thinking place, better known as the third floor landing. Sitting with her back against the wall, she just let random thoughts pass in and out of her consciousness. Then the squeak of trainers on the steps startled her from a light doze. Billy, divested of his rifle and dressed for bed, stood a few steps down, obviously waiting to be noticed. Scooting upright and pushing her hair back, she invited him to join her. He sat down with his back against the wall opposite her, one leg up, his arm resting on his knee.

"Sarge and Kira. It's my fault."

Whatever she thought he was going to say, that wasn't it. "It's only your fault if you created the rage virus. But that's not what you mean." Taking a few moments to organize her thoughts, Pip stretched her short legs out in front of her crossed at the ankles. "My family was spared in the first go round, and we counted ourselves blessed by God's own hand.

"After spendin' six months in a German refugee came, we'd only been in our new house on the Isle of Dogs for three weeks when the unthinkable happened again." Pip had his full attention now. "I'm the youngest of four. The oldest, David, was the first to be infected. He'd already gone after my sister, Dania and our other brother, Pauly, when he came for me. I ran to my parent's room for the shotgun, killed him, Dania, Pauly and our parents. So I know what it's like to have to do what you did. The important thing to remember is you did it to protect others. Murphy wouldn't hold you responsible for your actions, and neither will anyone else."

She waited a few heartbeats to let him absorb her words. Without speaking, he got to his feet, adjusted the handgun shoved into the holster covered by his shirt and slowly descended the stairs.

**One Week Later**

Standing in front of the clinic, Doyle breathed deeply of the first real fresh air he'd tasted in more than seven days. It had been at his insistence that Max do each test several times to be absolutely certain there was no chance that he would unknowingly infect another, especially Gracie. He'd never seen the virus take over a baby and didn't want to. Seeing it happen to children-puppies in his personal sniper lingo-was bad enough. If it were to happen to a baby, well, he didn't want to think about it or he'd go crazy for real.

The clinic was two and a half klicks from base. He thought about jogging back, but Ruby was supposed to be on her way with Gracie. He'd been able to see his daughter through the window and each time she cried making him feel like a heel. But it was better for them both to be unhappy than dead.

His arms crossed, Doyle paced until the sound of a Hummer came toward him. Danny got out and opened the back door for Ruby carrying a wiggling bundle of baby in a pink dress, matching headband and socks. Her hair had lightened from its original brown and was now closer to his sandy color. The eyes that looked at him with such complete trust and affection had changed as well. They were closer to sky blue now. But what she looked like didn't matter. Just that he could see and touch her again.

Gracie swiveled her head around probably remembering that this was the place where she'd seen him before. He called out to her, "Gracie."

Her eyes found him and she smiled, her legs kicking and arms waving in excitement. Taking her from Ruby, he held her up in the air and smiled back. "There's my girl. Did you miss Daddy?"

"'Course she did. Cried every night you weren't there, Sarge," Ruby told him. When Danny walked away to give them privacy, Ruby followed and Doyle was alone with his daughter.

Keeping his voice low, he said, "I missed you too, sweetheart. What's that bow in your hair? Are you a girly-girl? You can be my wing-girl when I go to pick up chicks in the park." His hands under her arms, Doyle lifted Gracie high in the air making her giggle and kick. She was having so much fun he turned her on her stomach to fly her around in circles making airplane sounds. "It's Super-Gracie!"

Not wanting her to upchuck, he cuddled her close and she reached out to grab his nose. "Got some mad hand-eye coordination skills goin' on there, sweetheart. _You_ are a genius."

He heard Ruby coming, but ignored her while he and Gracie played. "Takes after her daddy. It's about time for her feedin' and you'll be wantin' t' do that yourself bein' as its time for her to start on cereal."

"Oh, yeah." His smile faded as he and Ruby walked toward the Hummer. "You know, until this little girl, I didn't know what I was missing. Lived the solitary life of a soldier, trained as a sniper. Then she came along and…"

"You're not alone anymore."

Looking down into Gracie's face as she once again chewed on her fingers, Doyle knew how lucky he was. How lucky they both were. If he hadn't been with the group, they wouldn't have had a reason to stop at Lu's house and Gracie would be dead too. Or someone else would be raising her, and he wouldn't have been there for the milestones a baby goes through, all her firsts. And he wouldn't have missed that for anything. He smiled at his daughter and she smiled back. "No. I'm not."

~~O~~

In the isolation room, Kira relaxed with a book. It wasn't that well written or interesting, but it was something to do. Oscar offered to set up a TV and DVD player, but she turned it down. The electrical engineer did hook a CD player to a car battery and someone was always around to change the music or turn it off if it got on her nerves. Lucy had played a few tunes for her. In fact, all her friends had been around at least once. A group had come in one evening after an especially bad day and played games with her. She sunk all of Doyle's battleships to her delight and his consternation.

Going to the cooler, she took out a bottle of Barr Cola. It wasn't as cold as she liked it, but she didn't complain. The drink hit her stomach and she immediately became queasy. Recapping the bottle, she bent over to replace it in the cooler, nearly pitching head first onto the floor, catching herself by grabbing the counter. Her left eye began to throb in time with her heartbeat which had picked up speed as a fierce anger built inside her brain. Beating the door with both fists, she called out, "Max! Sunny!"

Kira's gut clenched, pain shooting through her entire body, anger and fear warring inside her brain. Going to the bathroom, she reached the toilet just in time to vomit a very large amount of blood. Her ears and head pounded as she screamed in a mixture of pain and fury. Enough of her reasoning mind functioned so that she didn't immediately attack when strong hands forced her to the floor. Thrashing round and growling, she barely felt the prick of a needle in her upper arm and moments later, surrendered to the sweet oblivion of sleep.

~~O~~

Standing over the now quiescent Kira, Max directed Alfie and Patrick to place her on the bed. He was afraid of this. As part of the research team trying to find a cure for the rage virus, it had been theorized that meds used to suppress or deadened certain parts of the brain might work as a temporary fix. The meds would be used to suppress the anger allowing an infected person to remain coherent enough to assist with describing the symptoms and how each different med affected the way they felt, physically and emotionally until the right combination or a cure was found.

Max and Sunny did the best they could with what they had, but it wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough. They needed more. More equipment, a more secure isolation, more meds to test, more subjects, more time. Just…more.

But they weren't going to get it. Not today, tomorrow, next week or even next month. The odds were against them though Max believed in miracles or Kira would be dead now. Shot by one of her own as a mercy.

Max joined the men out in the hall. For security, Max and Sunny never came into Kira's room at the same time just in case she injured one of them despite their precautions. Pulling off his hazmat hood, he make an attempt to spin this incident in a positive light, but they'd all seen too much of the virus' casualties to be fooled.

Gordon pointed out, "It's only been six hours since her last dose."

"So give her another," Alfie suggested.

Shaking his head, Max explained, "She's already getting twice the normal dose of both meds. The problem we had when we tried for a cure before was that eventually, the patient builds up a tolerance to the drugs until taking them becomes just a waste of time and effort."

Patrick, a former amateur bodybuilder, uttered one word and it summed up how Max felt at this moment. "Crap."

It was _all_ crap. Everything they were trying to do for Kira and for the world. Eventually, they would end up having to either kill her or let her starve to death after the virus could no longer be managed. He was a _doctor_, sworn to first, do no harm. What he had to figure out was of the choices to be had, which would do the _least_ amount of harm. The answers wouldn't be found standing around feeling sorry for themselves, Max decided. "Keep an eye on her. When she wakes, come and get me or Sunny."

The hood bounced hitting him repeatedly on the upper back as he walked quickly down the hall to the lab. Stripping out of the suit, he asked Sunny, "Where were we?"

Turning from watching the centrifuge spin, Sunny had one hand on her hip and the other holding a clipboard. "Did you tell her?"

"What? That we _may_ have a cure, that the 'cure' _may_ be worse than the disease and even if it _did_ work, we can't replicate it? No, I didn't."

"She deserves to know the truth. They all do, Pricey." She tacked the silly nickname on the end deliberately.

His half-grin turned up one side of his mouth before he could stop it and he shook a finger at her. "I do _not_ feel like laughing."

A loud clap of thunder came on top of a bright flash of lightning that made Sunny jump. Rain came pouring down on the roof making it sound like they were inside a tin can. "Oh _s***!_"

"The natives are restless tonight. It's really coming down out there. Guess we'll have to cancel our dinner reservations at Chez Whateverthehellitis."

"And I was _so_ looking forward to the lobster mac and cheese served with a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio. Hey, where're you going?"

Max pointed to his bags in the corner where he slept, poked around in the larger one coming up with a dusty bottle of wine he'd liberated from the mansion. "It's not white, but it'll go great with MREs."

Taking two clean beakers from the shelf, Sunny held them out while Max poured the dark red liquid. "Cheers."

Sunny took a tentative sip, making a face at the taste. "That's not cheeky. It's downright rude!" She drank down every last drop, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and held the beaker out. "Hit me again."

~~O~~

After Gracie went to sleep, Doyle left the door open so he could hear if she cried then went down the hall to watch the movie Oscar set up for the night's entertainment. Not one of his favorites, he quickly lost interest. He wasn't the only one to go by Billy's expression. The young man abruptly left the room. Doyle was tempted to follow, but he didn't. Billy had to work through what had happened, and when he was ready to talk about it, Doyle would be ready listen.

Going to the kitchen, he poured a glass of lukewarm tea and drank it down.

~~O~~

When Kira awoke from her sedative induced nap, she felt better and worse at the same time. She no longer felt like vomiting, but she also didn't feel like eating though water sounded good and would help her dry mouth and throat.

Her throat soothed, she sat at the table, drawing the stack of stationery and a pen to her. Lucy brought it to her days before and it had sat unused on the table ever since.

Today had been the worst since she became infected. The thing she hated most was not being able to interact directly with people. It was wearing on her and the others. They all tried to maintain cheerful and positive outlooks, but she could see in their eyes that it was hopeless. She'd been spared a quick death from a bullet to the brain only to die a slow death from the virus. Anyone infected knew they only had seconds before they turned, but she had more than a week to contemplate her eventual death and was ready for it to be over. But first, there was something she had to do.

At the top of the first cream colored embossed page, Kira wrote the date and sorting out her thoughts. Then she began to write…

_Dear Ruby,_

_I'll be gone soon and don't want to leave without saying a few things. _

_Thank you so much for being more than a friend at a time when I needed it most. My mum and dad have been gone for a while now, and I miss them every day. But having you about, was like having my mum with me again. Someone to tell my troubles to and share in my victories. Not that there were that many good days since, well, you know. I'm just glad you were there…_

Kira kept writing until she'd filled several pages with her surprisingly neat handwriting, signing the bottom with, _Yours, Kira_. Folding the pages in half, she carefully inserted them into a matching envelope, pressed the self-sticking closure to seal it and writing Ruby's name on the front.

She kept at it all that day, stopped for the night when Alfie brought dinner then picked up again the next morning.

~~O~~

After breaking up a third fight between Billy and another member of the group, Doyle finally took matters into his own hands, tired of waiting for the boy to work it through.

It was midafternoon, cloudy and threatening to rain…again. Doyle had Billy by the shoulder of his shirt, dragging him out the front door and around the side of the building because he refused to pick up his feet. A small patio formed an oasis amid the turmoil of their situation, but Doyle barely noticed. He shoved Billy onto the bench and stood over him with his arms crossed. "What the _hell's_ goin' on?"

The young man kept his eyes on the ground while he picked at a hangnail and shrugged.

"I can't help you if you won't talk to me."

Billy got to his feet, turned his back and shoved both hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders stiff. "I weren't here for the first go of the virus. Ain't never killed no one b'fore. 'N Murph was a vicar."

Doyle understood the feeling. He'd gone through the same mental gymnastics the first time he took someone out through the scope of his rifle. Still did in some ways. Yet he did what he had to do in order to keep those under his protection safe. "Us or them" was his mantra, his motto. Even when he'd taken out members of his own squad, people he knew and trusted. He told himself he was doing them a favor. Once their minds were gone, they weren't, in the strictest sense of the word, human any longer. And telling Billy that wouldn't make him any friends because the boy had to see it for himself. To come to terms with his actions and take responsibility for them without letting it become an all-encompassing cloud over his head.

Keeping his distance Doyle softened his tone, "I know it's hard, Billy. No one knows more than I do that taking a life isn't easy, even if taking that life saves others. A soldier is the guy who makes it possible for the rest of the civilized world to hate war. Murphy was a man of God, but he was also a soldier. We _all_ are. He wouldn't have wanted to endanger the lives of others because of sentiment. That doesn't mean you shouldn't feel bad about it. Just know that there was nothing you could've done to prevent it."

There was the slightest tempering of Billy's attitude, his shoulders coming down from where they'd bunched up around his ears telling Doyle that he was listening. _Really_ listening. Not only to what was said, but what wasn't said as well. Doyle turned Billy to face him with a hand on his shoulder, relieved when he didn't fight it. "What's important now is that you not bury that anger and resentment inside you. Let it out. Even if it's in one blinding flash, then move on. That's how you handle this like a man."

Billy considered Doyle's words and seemed to find an ace that he could keep.

"The next time you feel like knockin' someone on their ass, come to me." Doyle dropped into a boxer's stance, punching the air. "We'll go a few rounds. Okay?"

Billy gave up a weak smile and a short nod. "Yeah. Thanks, Sarge."

Slapping him on the back, Doyle grinned. "Now get back to work. Ruby and Lukas need help so you're on KP."

~~O~~

With just two more letters to write, Kira only vaguely resented Sunny's intrusion into her personal space. When the blood had been drawn, capped and notated, Kira smiled, but with an attitude of gallows humor.

"Sorry we have to keep doing this, Kira," Sunny said apologetically, her voice echoing inside the hood. Just inside the door stood Patrick and Ellis also in hazmat suits, there to protect Sunny.

"Lucky the virus makes all that extra blood or I'd be drained dry by now. On the bright side, I'm safe from vampires."

Sunny gave her a blank stare, though her eyes betrayed her amusement. "Ah, yes. Humor. I've heard of it. Tried it once, but it left a bad taste."

Without meaning to, Kira chuckled. "Oh, you're good. Just the right amount of bile and hilarity."

Glancing over her shoulder, Sunny gave Kira's hand a comforting squeeze made impersonal by the glove. "We're close, Kira. I can feel it. It'll all be over soon."

"God, I hope you're right." Still holding the lab tech's hand, she gazed up at her with pleading eyes, trying to make her see that they were prolonging the inevitable and begging to end it.

Not responding to Kira's silent entreaties, Sunny simply said, "I'll be back soon with your meds."

Alone again, Kira wanted to crawl into bed and cry herself to sleep, but the blinds had been taken down and everyone would see. The bathroom was out too because if she stayed in there too long, someone always came in to check on her. Sitting down at the desk, she wrote a letter to Max and Sunny and put it in the envelope. There was one more to go and it was the hardest.

She should resent the fact that Doyle was immune, but it wasn't fair to either of them to be bitter about something the man had no control over. And if things had gone just a little differently, he wouldn't have been in England for Sunny to discover his immunity. He should also know what having him as their leader meant to them, to _her_. How he'd rallied them together when it seemed as if all hope had been lost for a second time. How seeing him go from the solitary soldier to father had made her feel happiness for the first time in months. Picking up the pen, she started writing…

_My Dearest Nigel,_

_So much needs to be said that I'm not sure where to start, so let's go with this: You really should've killed me. I've just been running in place this last week. Not even that. I'm losing ground and picking up speed, like a snowball rolling downhill. It's not your fault, and if Max and Sunny learn anything from this then I'm glad to have helped in some way._

_Now, about Gracie._

_That little girl has given you a new purpose in life aside from fighting and killing. Now don't try to explain your way out of it. I may not be as educated as Pricey, Sunny and Danny, but that don't mean cobwebs have been growing inside my brain._

_And speaking of brains, use yours along with your eyes to see there's someone-won't say who-that cares about you more than she thinks she should. You feel the same so no use denying it or you'll lose her to another what don't deserve her. I'm not just blowing smoke out my arse and you know it…_

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **I'm issuing a *warning* for this chapter as it contains several intense scenes that are the reason for the M rating. But don't despair. It won't stay that way for long.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 11**

The stack of envelopes sat on the table, silently embracing the bits and pieces of Kira's life she chose to share with the group that had become a surrogate family to her, to each other. They watched, they cried, they fought…they loved. And they did it together, just the way a family should.

Gathering them together, she stacked them inside the empty stationery box and replaced the top. Suddenly tired, the young woman pressed her palms flat on the table to help her stand. A wave of dizziness came over her and it became hard to breathe. Looking down, she noticed that her ankles were swollen below the legs of the khaki capris Lucy had given her. A week ago, they fit perfectly, but now they hung low on her boney hips. Pulling the drawstring tighter, she tied a bow and decided a nap would be nice.

Though it was only a few steps to the bed, to Kira it seemed much further. Reaching for the footboard, she misjudged the distance and missed, falling to the floor, knocking over the chair in a clatter of metal and leather. A moment later, the door hissed open.

"Kira? You okay?"

Patrick's voice seemed to come from far away. Pressing her hands into the floor, she lifted herself just a few inches until her strength gave out. And somewhere, in the distance and getting farther away with each second, she heard Patrick calling for Max and Sunny then nothing.

~~O~~

"It wasn't easy. We had to disconnect some of the machines we use for testing in order to set up the x-ray machine, but we got it. An MRI or catheterization would've been better, but we don't have the power." Doyle stared at the x-ray Max held up to the light from the window pointing out the pertinent areas. "See this area here?"

Nodding, Doyle tried to absorb everything Max was telling him. "That's the extras…"

"Extrinsic cardiomyopathy. It means that the primary pathology is outside the myocardium, the heart muscle, itself. The most common is ischemia or lack of oxygen to the heart muscle. In Kira's case, it's caused by the virus ravaging her organs and the drugs she's taking at the very high doses we have to give her so she can function…"

"A pincer movement."

Lowering his arm, Max set the x-ray aside, crossing his arms and frowning. "Not how I would've put it, but essentially, yes. The virus and the drugs are working in tandem to damage her organs, starting with her heart and brain. Kidney function is diminished by twenty percent, as is the liver and pancreas. If we can't figure something out soon, she won't make it to the end of the week."

From her place at Max's side, Sunny added, "What appeared to be a blessing in the beginning has been torture for Kira. We might as well break out medieval torture devices."

Max waved a hand, gesturing for Doyle to take a seat. Both men waited until Sunny was seated before dropping into chairs. Doyle flipped his around, straddling it, his arms folded on the back. "What's the plan?"

The medical professionals exchanged glances, Sunny taking up the baton. "Earlier today, she asked me to help her. Not in so many words, but I could see it in her eyes. She's ready for this to be over. She _wants_ to die."

Max was careful not to stare at Doyle while he thought over the implications of all he'd been told and said, "I won't let her die alone. I'll help her."

"Sergeant." Taking a deep breath, Max held it for a moment then let it out. "Assisted suicide is illegal in the UK."

Doyle rolled the chair forward and back using his feet as a substitute for pacing. "The government is non-existent and even if it were, these aren't exactly textbook conditions." Max simply stared at the soldier until he gave in. "What _can_ we do?"

One of the machines beeped. Sunny got up to answer the call, Max watching her go before answering. He already knew Doyle didn't want to hear what he had to say. "Make her comfortable. That's about it."

After a short period of intense thinking, Doyle got to his feet with a sense of purpose. "Then let's send her out with a bang."

~~O~~

Kira was beginning to think there was some sort of conspiracy going on. Her friends were always whispering, stopping when they saw her watching. This talking behind her back, so to speak, had been going on for days, and she felt it was time she knew what was going on. She'd ask pointed questions the next time Max or Sunny came for her daily blood-letting, which had gotten to the point where they were finding it difficult to locate a place that hadn't been used several times already. She didn't even want to _think_ about the spinal tap.

Opening her book, she started reading to pass the time. It was way past lunch time and no one had been to see her aside from the guards. Ellis and Charlie came on just after sunrise and had been acting strange all morning.

Her eyes drifted closed and just as she was falling asleep, excited voices jerked her awake again. Going to the window, Kira peered out and witnessed an odd sight. Lucy, Ione and Jamie were talking with Max and Sunny. The small group went into the room across the hall and shut the door. A few minutes later, the three women came out wearing hazmat suits and carrying bags. To her surprise, Ellis opened the door and let them in.

"What are you lot _on_ about?"

Ione cleared the table top and together, the women pulled a variety of familiar items out and arranged them according to some master plan of theirs. With a big grin, Jamie made a ta-dah gesture. "We're gettin' ya ready for the big bash tonight."

"Bash?" Kira heard how dumbfounded her voice sounded. It matched her mind-set at the moment.

"Party, do, soirée, fête."

Ione, just gone nineteen, practically danced with anticipation. "Hair, make-up, nails, clothes. We got it all, baby!"

Not knowing what to say, Kira settled for, "Okay."

Dragging the largest of the bags to her, Jamie dug around until she found what she wanted. "We brought several dresses for ya to choose from, but _this_ is my favorite." The musician held up a bright purple dress. It had a pleated skirt with a leather yoke and cap sleeves. "Brilliant, ain't it?"

It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was a going away party. Kira appreciated their efforts while at the same time wanting to tell them not to bother, but it seemed important for everyone else that she enjoy her last few days on Earth… "It is, but I have one. And it's abso-flippin'-lutely _smashing!_"

Dragging her duffle bag from the closet, she reached inside and lifted out an all leather dress in a style similar to the purple one but in black. It had a fitted bodice and flared skirt that ended four inches above her knees. "I need shoes."

"Got it covered, love." Pawing through another bag, Ione handed Kira a shoe box, and when she opened it, a gasp came out before she could stop it. The shoes were amazing! The four-inch black heels had ostrich feathers around the ankle strap and were adorned with white stones that were meant to look like diamonds.

"They're brilliant! They don't match m' dress though."

Lucy finished setting up what she needed for doing Kira's nails. "Who ****ing _cares?_ This is gonna be so epic we'll be talkin' about for _weeks_."

Rather than debate, Kira gave in gracefully, letting her friends do what they wanted. She knew her time was short, and didn't want to spend it pushing others away or feeling sorry for herself.

~~O~~

Sunset was a distant memory and the party had been in full swing for over an hour with dancing, games, music, food and non-alcoholic drinks. However, Patrick, though having a good time, still felt out of sorts. It was this whole lot, their attitude. Their lives had come down to squatting in whatever abandoned building they could find. Cooking over a fire instead of a stove, scrounging clothes, medical supplies, and all the other basic necessities of life. All the while keeping watch for others who would take what little they had for themselves.

He hadn't been as good a friend as he could've been and that made him feel unworthy to be part of this group. He hadn't taken the time to really get to know anyone. Didn't invite personal talk about more than sports or where their next meal might come from.

Sipping a cup of punch-it would've tasted better with a bit of rum, but Doyle said no-he studied his mates from a corner of the room. Everyone at one time or another had taken a turn with Kira so she could feel a part of the group again. And it worked. He saw her throw her head back, laughing at something Doyle said. At Max's insistence, even the one person who didn't have to wore protective clothing.

The fast paced music stopped, someone dimmed the lights, and everyone paired up to dance. Not as romantic couples. At least not all of them. Doyle came out to pair up with Flo, Waverly nodded shyly when Alfie asked her to dance, the young man keeping a respectable distance between them when Doyle tapped him on the shoulder. Pip laughed in the arms of Danny while Clover coaxed a sullen Billy out onto the floor. In some cases, two women danced together. She giggled when Collin jokingly asked tall, lanky Gordon to dance, the two men hamming it up outrageously.

Halfway through the song, Danny exchanged partners with Doyle so their leader could dance with his girl. Shaking his head, Patrick wondered what lurked inside Pip and Doyle that kept them from just getting down to it without all this fannying about. Just because Patrick stayed to himself didn't mean others had to.

In her isolation room, Kira swayed side to side, her eyes closed, totally involved in the music. Setting his cup aside, Patrick climbed into one of the hazmat suits, zipped up the front and dropped the hood into place, his bulky upper body barely contained by the material. Good thing it had a little give. He knocked, but Kira still jumped when he stepped into the room.

"Oh! You gave me a start."

"Sorry. Came to see if you'd like to dance."

She looked down at herself in the clingy leather dress and those ridiculous shoes, her dark hair up and off her face showing off her vaguely Asian features. "Why not? If nothin' else, we'll be the most unusual lookin' pair on the floor."

"No worries." He was much taller than Kira with her head just reaching his chin as he placed his hands on her waist and hers holding onto his shoulders. Bit by bit, he drew her closer until they were touching all along the front. Not intimately, but more like very close friends than just mates. Kira's arms went around his neck and her head onto his shoulder. She stumbled once, and he tightened his grip to keep her from falling until she regained her balance.

When the song ended, she looked up at him and smiled her appreciation. He didn't let go though as the next song came on. This one had recently made its way over from America. A duet by country artists Brad Paisley and Dolly Parton. The lyrics were poignant and emotionally moving. And utterly apt for Kira's situation though Patrick didn't say so.

Kira yawned, laughing at the end. "Sorry. It's not the company. Really. I'm just a wee bit knackered."

"Maybe I should go and let you rest." He made to move away, but she gripped the material of the suit to keep him in place.

"Don't. Not yet." Kira touched the faceplate of his hood and smiled fondly. "Thanks for this, Patrick."

_So much pain and so much darkness__  
__In this world we stumble through.__  
__All these questions I can't answer,__  
__And so much work to do__But when I get where I'm goin'__  
__And I see my maker's face,__  
__I'll stand forever in the light,__  
__Of his amazing Grace.__Yeah when I get where I'm goin'__  
__There'll be only happy tears.__  
__I will love and have no fear._

She dropped her head back to his shoulder, humming along with the song. He felt it where her cheek touched his collarbone. As the final verse came on, the humming stopped, her arms relaxed, falling first to his shoulders then off to slide down his firm biceps. Her feet stopped moving, and all that kept her upright was his arms around her waist. Still, he didn't stop until the music came to an end.

There was light applause out in the hall with no one noticing as he picked Kira up and carried her to the bed. He folded her hands over her stomach, the bangle bracelets jangling as they clinked together. He straightened her dress, brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and quietly left the room, not needing to check for a pulse to know that she had finally gone to be with her maker.

~~O~~

A week after Kira's death, Max and Sunny had learned all they could from the autopsy she insisted they perform. Then, at her request, she was cremated wearing the black leather dress and incredible shoes she'd worn at the party. When her body had been consumed by the fire, a group of volunteers buried her ashes under a tree in the park.

That morning, Sunny found the stack of letters Kira had written and passed them out after the funeral. The recipients carried the envelopes with them when they returned to base, each lost in their own thoughts.

~~O~~

Oscar's pet project finally came to fruition. The engineer found a HAM radio and spent as many hours as he physically could to get it working. Somehow, he still functioned the next day. The sleepless nights had been worth it when they made contact with someone who said he lived in Cork, Ireland. As luck would have it, the infected had been prevented from reaching the Emerald Isle, giving their group just what they needed to galvanize them into action: Hope.

Doyle decided to wait for the rain to stop before setting sail, and wanted to do something special to celebrate so he gathered a mixed group of men and women together out in the field adjacent to their base. Tossing a rugby ball from hand to hand, he addressed his "volunteers."

"Who here has played football before? _American_ football?" Hands that had been in the air dropped to their sides while they worked out what he was on about. "Today, you're gonna learn to play football the way it was meant to be played. Normally, each team consists of eleven players with the ultimate goal of scoring more touchdowns than the other team, but we're going with six. Now you got your offense and your defense…"

Once he'd finished with the basic rules of the game, he positioned both teams with his as defense. They didn't have a tee so he called the start of the game by drop-kicking the ball to the other side.

The field was muddy from all the rain and it wasn't long until everyone was covered in gray goo. Both teams were fairly evenly matched in enthusiasm if not skill. By the third "quarter" the rain started again, but they continued to play until they were too tired to go on, the mud covering them so thick, the only way you could tell one from the other was by their size and voice.

Danny and Patrick double-timed Doyle, tackling him to the ground with both teams joining in the fray. Panting from exertion and the press of eleven bodies on top of him, Doyle made the shape of a T with his hands. "Time out. I think that's enough for today."

The others climbed off him, Danny giving him a hand up with a wink and a grin. Wearily, they trudged to the front door only to be stopped by Ruby, her lined face pinched in annoyance. "You all look absolutely beastly! You'll not be trackin' _that_ into our home. Go on down to the shore and rinse the mud away. Then I'll think on if you'll be gettin' in or not. Away with the lot of you."

Shrugging sheepishly, Doyle headed down to the beach, the others trudging behind him. Taking off his T-shirt, pants, shoes and socks, he walked out into the water until he could dunk himself completely under. He rubbed his head and swirled his clothes through the water until he'd gotten as much of the mud out as possible then returned to shore to sit on the sea wall until everyone had finished then followed Lucy as she led the way back.

The next day their HAM pal gave them a weather forecast stating the rain would stop in the next thirty-six hours. Doyle tentatively planned for them to shove off for Ireland the following morning, depending on updates.

Once the rain stopped, with Doyle directing and Pip assisting, four of the Hummers were loaded onto the ship. One M1025 and three M1097s were all that would be needed to get them from the landing point to the combined CDC and NATO run research center they now knew was _not_ in Dublin but in Kinvarra, a small town outside of Galway. Seating would be a little crowded, but only for a couple of hours, if they took the most direct route and there were no detours or stops along the way.

Hands on his hips, Doyle watched the vehicles being tied to the deck as Pip came up beside him. "We have enough life vests for everyone?"

"Yeah." He heard a smirk in her voice. An indication that she was about to say something he'd find absolutely charming. "And if there's an emergency, Rose can be used as a flotation device."

Doyle coughed to cover a laugh when the aforementioned Rose came within earshot. No one mentioned the fact that she obviously had implants. Lowering his voice, he whispered out the side of his mouth, "I volunteer to take one for the team."

Balling up her fist, Pip popped him in the shoulder. "What time we headin' out?"

Gesturing for her to go ahead, he came up alongside. "After breakfast. Everything needs to be packed tonight. Food and people go aboard last. Make sure Doc brings lots of Dramamine."

"Dramamine?"

"Seasickness pills. Just in case."

Pip reached into her back pocket, handing him the notebook he'd given her the night Jill died. "You should have this back."

Taking the notebook, he opened it to a page marked with a sticky note. "You read it?"

"I did. Made a few notes o' my own." They walked in silence for a few steps, then, "That's why ya gave it over, right?"

A nod and shrug was the only answer he would give. Some of what he'd written had taken the form of journal entries. What _could_ he say?

_How could you read my private thoughts?_

Wouldn't fly in the face of all they'd been through over the last few weeks. The very core of his soul had been squeezed and kneaded and worked over until it felt flat and shapeless. Slanting a look at his companion, he waged they all felt the same.

All but Gracie. To her, each day was filled with new and wondrous things to delight the senses. And he was there with her, experiencing everything for the first time again.

Another thing he saw was Pip being a part of their lives in the future, but did _she_ want it? If not now, later? How much later? What if she only wanted him for a few nights of physical comfort? Or not even that? Would she treat him the way he'd treated women in the past? A night or two of fun then off on another mission.

Pip snapped her fingers in front of his nose bringing him back to now at the speed of sound. And yes, he didn't miss the pun his mind supplied. "What?"

"Where'd you go?"

Shrugging, Doyle played it off. "Picturing Mom's face when she sees Gracie for the first time."

A few more steps of silence, then Pip clasped her hands behind her back as though imitating him. "I'm sure she'll love her. Your whole family will."

"It's just that I resigned myself to not having kids a long time ago and suddenly…" Again, he looked over at Pip. Now her hands were in her pockets, the weight of them drawing the waistband of her pants down so that her navel played peek-a-boo with the hem of her shirt. She either didn't know she was doing it or didn't care that he was looking. To distract himself from what his mind told him lay above and below that small wedge of skin, he asked, "What about your family?"

The half-smile that accompanied their friendly banter melted away. "Dead," she stated dully.

"I'm sorry. Wanna talk about it? 'Cause I can recommend someone."

"Oh?"

Her tone said she knew he was attempting to restore their previous effortless easygoing camaraderie, relieved when she let him have his way. "Ruby."

"Anyone else?"

"Hmm…Lucy, Jasper, Flo. Danny, but not Collin. He'll pretend to listen and all the while he's thinking about dinner or tinkering with some piece of equipment." Snorting, Pip almost smiled, but not quite. "But if that's all you need, come to me. I can pretend to listen as well as the next guy."

This time she did smile. "Just might take you up on it."

Some of the stiffness came out of her posture as they reached the end of the pier and stepped off the curb. The hand closest to Doyle came out of her pocket to brush at her too long bangs, and without thinking, he took that hand in his, weaving their fingers together. Pip's hand felt tiny and delicate in his, almost as if he could crush the bones with just the slightest pressure. He already knew her to be tougher than that, or she wouldn't have made it this long and their people wouldn't have accepted her as his second.

At first she seemed self-conscious at his touch, obviously not wanting to be seen as their leader's girlfriend, concerned that it would undermine both their authority. He wouldn't let go though, and in time, she relaxed, comforted by his touch.

Doyle released Pip when they reached the front door, held it for her then followed her in. The first thing he heard was Gracie crying at the top of her lungs. With an apologetic smile, he jogged down the hall to the room designated at the dining room. The moment she saw him, Gracie shut up and reached for him. Refusing to give into her demands, he seated himself next to Waverly and talked to Gracie as she ate. Though strong-willed, the baby sensed that he was no longer the pushover he'd been at the beginning, and that was the lesson.

He guessed separation anxiety stemming from their ordeal following the attack in which five-six, he reminded himself-had died. As long as he stayed consistent in how he handled her, they'd get along just fine. As for Pip, he was certain of only one thing. That he liked her as more than just a friend, but whether it was love, lust, infatuation or even just physical attraction, he'd figure out later.

~~O~~

Anticipation – noun

**a** **:** a prior action that takes into account or forestalls a later action;

**b** **:** the act of looking forward; _especially_ **:** pleasurable expectation.

Pip had a pleasurable expectation for their journey to Ireland and what awaited them there. David McNeil, their HAM radio friend assured them that life was more or less normal on the Emerald Isle. The loss of England, Scotland, France, Belgium and The Netherlands, as well as the evacuation of Luxemburg and the area of Germany bordering those countries dealt a tremendous blow to the world economy. Virtually no country on Earth remained unaffected by the rage virus in one way or another, though leaders everywhere assured their people that they would recover even if it took as long as a decade.

Not the best news, but also not the worst. No, that was reserved for the rumors that the CDC still hadn't found or created a cure for the horrible disease. She was, to a certain extent, buoyed by the fact that Doyle had a natural immunity and might possibly be the salvation of the human race. Tucked away in the recesses of her memory, Pip found a tidbit of information almost forgotten. The virus only crossed over from primate to primate. Other species had shown to be immune to its effects and were not carriers. If the reverse were true, it could've spelled the end to life on Earth. Their planet could have become devoid of animal life of any kind.

Unable to sleep, Pip padded out to the dining room in her stocking feet. She was just pouring a glass of tepid water when the tread of bare feet on the carpeting alerted her to the presence of another. Holding the glass in her left hand, the right caressed the butt of the Browning. Intellectually, she knew that it could only be one of their own, and she had a hunch who it would be, her innate caution driving her instinct for self-preservation. Her thumb located the safety then pulled away when Doyle entered the room just behind a small pool of light.

He wasn't startled when she held out a second glass of water which he accepted gratefully, saluting her with it before downing the entire contents at once.

"Can't sleep?"

One shoulder came up then down. "Gracie has to take medicine for an earache every four hours." Yawning, he turned his head making his neck crack. "Those guys wore me out yesterday."

"It was _your_ idea."

The burden of command weighed on him and it showed. His sheepish grin turned up the corners of his mouth taking years off his appearance. "True."

Whatever she thought they'd talk about, this hadn't been it. Setting their glasses on the counter, Pip said, "I should get back to bed. We've a long trip tomorrow."

"I'll walk you."

At the door to her room, Pip turned to thank him, and suddenly he was too close for comfort. Not touching, just too close, and the look on his face said he knew the effect he was having on her and took pleasure in it, just as she did. A lock of hair touched her cheek and he reached up to tuck it behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin a moment too long. Or not long enough. She couldn't be certain at this point.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her dry lips, hoping the movement was subtle. Not subtle enough by the way the blue of his irises darkened and his breath caught in his chest. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head as she tilted hers back, accepting his invitation. Their lips had barely touched when Gracie's cry frozen them in that position for a moment in time. Doyle backed up a step, breaking the spell. Shrugging an apology, he rushed to his room, the soothing murmur of his voice immediately halting the unhappy sound then the door closed, shutting the rest of the world out. Sighing, Pip lay down on her bed and lay staring at the ceiling for a long time.

~~O~~

Their trip down along the English Channel and across the Celtic Sea was uneventful-for the most part. A storm came up their first night at sea making several people seasick, though nothing major. Ruby and Lukas made broth and tea for those poor souls until the rocking stopped.

Late on the afternoon of the second day, they saw land. Once the initial fear of infection had passed, they were brought into port by the employees of the ferry landing at Cork, Ireland. Their vehicles were hoisted from the deck of the barge while the survivors were being fed and treated like visiting royalty. The mayor came out to greet them, generally making a fuss which Doyle bore with the patience of a sniper waiting for the perfect moment to take out a target.

They were given accommodations at a local inn for the night. The next day, Doyle and Pip took their leave and they were on the road by 1000 local time headed for Galway.

In Galway, they were given a less effusive greeting when they asked for directions to the research center. The information was given, grudgingly, telling Doyle that NATO and the CDC hadn't made friends of the residents.

They took the road out of town with Doyle at the wheel of the M1025 instead of his usual place in the turret. The compound would be heavily guarded and he chose not to provoke the men and women assigned to protect it. He rolled to a stop a hundred yards from the front gate and got out, Pip, Max and Sunny backing him up.

A trio of soldiers, with the Irish Army to go by their uniforms, approached them, one out in front of the others. He did all the talking. "Get back in yer vehicles and return to town."

Standing with his feet shoulder width apart, Doyle said, "Can't do that. We have business with the CO."

"Apparently you didn't understand, Yank. Go back the way ya came. There's nothing here for ya."

"And _I'm_ telling _you_ we aren't leaving until we speak to whoever's in charge."

Flashing a snarl of disdain, the Corporal said, "No. Now move along. We don't give tours to civilians, so feck off."

Almost at the end of this tether, Doyle, taken aback by the man's attitude, played his trump card. "I am a Sergeant in the U.S. Army, _Corporal_. _You_ don't tell _me_ no. _I_ tell _you_ no. Now get the ****ing CO. Not your Company Sergeant and not your ****ing Lieutenant. I want the top dog, so you and your _Privates_," he made the rank sound like an insult as he got up in the Corporal's face, "_get_ on the horn and get him or her on the line while I'm still in a mood to be nice."

**TBC**

**A/N:** "When I Get Where I'm Goin'" was written by George Teren and Rivers Rutherford. In 2005, it was recorded and released by American country music artist Brad Paisley in a duet with Dolly Parton.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **This is it. The final chapter of my first and probably only zombie fic. Hope everyone enjoyed it. I tried to maintain a balance between hurt, comfort and adventure.

First let me thank ladygris for being kind enough to Beta the chapters even though she's never seen the movies and some of what happens is creepy. Second, thanks to all those who read it. All greatly appreciated.

_Gracias, mi amiga_.

~Sandy

**28 Weeks Later**

**One More Chance**

**Chapter 12**

Doyle knew without looking that they were being watched by guards posted along the twelve foot concrete wall topped with razor wire as well as with cameras that included night vision. His experienced gaze also picked out where landmines had been implanted around the perimeter, hence the reason they stopped so far from the gate. The mines were equipped with anti-handling devices to prevent tampering making the best course of action wrangling an invitation from someone inside. And that's why he demanded to see the CO, the man or woman at the top of the military food chain.

After fifteen minutes, Doyle was certain that the CO, whoever he or she was, was purposely delaying putting in an appearance to teach him a lesson, but Doyle was a sniper. He'd stand in this spot the rest of the day and all night if he had to.

Max scratched his nose to hide that he was speaking. "Hail, the conquering heroes."

Tucking his hands behind his back, Doyle flipped the doctor off just as the gate opened and a Hispanic woman in her early fifties strode toward him with a full head of steam. She had the American flag on her right arm and on the left, Ranger and Airborne. Across her left breast pocket it said "U.S. Army." Her bearing and the star indicated she was a Brigadier General. Doyle snapped to attention as the woman approached, saluting at the appropriate moment. The General returned it. "At ease. What's your name, soldier?"

"Sergeant Doyle, ma'am. Delta Rooftop Unit, Delta Force, attached to NATO."

"I'm General Sanchez. Where were you stationed, Sergeant?"

Staring over Sanchez's shoulder, Doyle dropped into parade rest. "Isle of Dogs, ma'am. The repatriation of London just before the last outbreak."

The General looked past Doyle to the others, her eyebrows coming together over her nose. "Who are these people?"

"Survivors. If it weren't for Dr. Price, I wouldn't be alive. And ma'am, there's something else…"

Sanchez cut him off with a slash of one hand. "You and your people will be escorted to the medical unit for a thorough exam and debriefing."

"Ma'am, if you don't mind, we've been traveling since 1000. Is there somewhere we can wash the road grime off and get some food?"

Sanchez seemed to be holding her temper with difficulty. "Right after you're cleared by medical and debriefed. You'll be in quarantine for at least a week. Debriefing at least another three to four days."

"Beggin' your pardon, General, but we've already been cleared for duty."

"By whom?"

Doyle motioned Max and Sunny forward. "By _our_ medical team. Dr. Max Price and Sundari Krishnamurthy."

Max took his cue and stepped forward, nodding a greeting to Sanchez. "Sunny and I were part of the NATO research team working on finding a cure for the rage virus. We need to speak to your medical CO and the director of the CDC _immediately_."

Doyle had to hand it to Max. He knew when to use his self-importance and when to let it go. Sanchez obviously had great contempt for anyone not under her direct command. It was in the way she looked them all over as if they were pieces of meat left out overnight and she wasn't certain if she wanted to take a risk. "You're not in a position to make demands, Doctor. This is a military-run facility. Everything that goes on here has to pass my scrutiny or it doesn't happen."

The doctor exchanged a glance with each of his friends before taking another step forward until he stood toe to toe and eye to eye with the supercilious CO. "Have it your way, General. As long as you understand that we will be sure to appear at your court-martial as character witnesses when you try to explain why it took nearly _two weeks_ for the Powers That Be to hear that we found a cure for the virus."

That deflated her posturing. Sanchez tapped her radio. "Open the gates. See to it that these people are escorted directly to medical. Nowhere else. What in God's name _is_ that?" Gracie chose that moment to announce her presence, and like a good father, Doyle rushed to quiet her. Reaching inside the first vehicle, he unhooked the car seat and lifted her out, returning to find the General still in place, a dumbfounded expression on her stern features. "Where the _hell_ did you get a baby?"

"She's my daughter."

"I'm looking forward to hearing your explanation of how you could have a child when you've only been in the country three months." Sanchez waited a beat, turned and walked quickly toward the gate that was just sliding open again.

~~O~~

Locked in an isolation room that had more in common with a prison cell than a hospital room, Doyle paced the floor, snapping his fingers and wishing he were almost anywhere else. He and the rest of his group hadn't been allowed to spend more than a few minutes together in the last seven days and more than twenty-four hours had passed since he'd last seen Gracie. The debriefings happened daily as did blood tests, MRIs, EKGs, EEGs, x-rays and visits from the overly-friendly staff shrink. He wasn't averse to talking about his experiences, but she kept coming back to the boat with the family and how he felt about finding them all dead. What was it about that particular incident that she had to ask about it every time they sat down to talk? Well, no more! If they wanted talk, blood, piss, spit, skin, or what-have-you, something had to change.

A beep at the door signaled someone coming in and sure enough the phlebotomist entered with an armed guard. "How do you feel today, Sergeant Doyle?"

"Uncooperative." Crossing his arms, Doyle stuck his chin out obstinately. "If you want anything from me, you gotta give me something in return."

The weary sigh deflated her lungs, her shoulders slumping as well. "Do you and your friends communicate telepathically? You're the seventh in a row to refuse to let me do my job."

Dropping into a chair, he crossed one leg over the other, ankle resting on the knee, his hand rearranging the non-lethal magazines and paperback books on the table. "It'll keep happening if you don't at least let us talk to each other." He started tapping his heel on the floor just to be doing something. "Callie, how would _you_ like to be separated from everyone you care about? I haven't spoken to my family in almost six months. For all they know, I'm dead. And I haven't seen my daughter since yesterday morning, and even then, I wasn't allowed to hold her."

Callie smiled. "You're _sure_ she's adopted? She has your stubbornness."

"Very sure. I haven't been to the UK in over three years, and it wasn't as a tourist."

"I sympathize, but there isn't anything I can do. General Sanchez gives the orders and she was quite clear. No unauthorized contact." She squeezed his hand, and when he looked up at her, she winked. "But don't stop asking. One of these times the answer is bound to be yes."

She and the guard left him alone with his thoughts. To pass the time, he removed his scrub shirt, dropped to the floor and did a hundred push-ups. Turning over, he did the same number of crunches. He was on the second set of both when the door beeped again and Callie was there only this time she wasn't with the guard. Her arms were full of a wiggling and very excited Gracie.

When she saw him, she grinned, her chubby little arms reaching out. He hugged the little girl to him and she babbled nonsensically telling him, no doubt, about all the horrible injustices she had to endure while they were separated. The door opened again, and he gave Callie a grateful smile.

"Fifteen minutes." Then she closed the door and left father and daughter alone.

~~O~~

Sitting in the conference room with General Sanchez and his staff, Max wanted to knock their heads together until they figured it out themselves. That didn't seem likely. Finally, he slammed a hand on the table, waiting until he had their full attention to speak.

"Sergeant Doyle is the reason we made it this far and you're treating him like a science experiment gone wrong. We asked him to lead us for a reason. Because he was the best person for the job. Sure, I saved his life by not leaving him to the military sweeper team, but he more than made up for it by saving our asses numerous times." He paused to let that sink in. "And if that's not good enough for you, consider this. If he's immune to the rage virus, chances are that members of his family have the same genetic expression, so you might think about treating him with a little more common courtesy and less like a serial killer."

From the looks on their faces, they hadn't thought of that aspect. Sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms, Max let smugness show on his face and in his posture while Sanchez and her cronies lined up all their ducks.

~~O~~

The beep that announced someone coming into his cell jolted Doyle out of a light doze. He'd started reading the book Callie brought him, but lost interest by the second paragraph. Historical romances just weren't his thing and he told her so. She apologized, saying that it was all she could find on short notice.

A different guard than before stepped into the room. "Come with me, please."

Doyle rolled to his feet, the boots thumping to the floor. About two hours earlier, someone brought him the same uniform the other soldiers were wearing, and he wasted no time changing out of the scrubs. "Time for my one hour of exercise, Corporal?"

"Excuse me?"

His sarcasm was lost on the younger man. "Never mind."

The heavily armed man gestured. "This way."

Doyle preceded the man through one set of locked doors then another, but instead of taking him to the medical bay, he was led down an unfamiliar hallway. The scent of food cooking and the clatter of dishes reminded him it was dinner time, but that didn't matter nearly as much as the familiar voices all talking at once. Over that, he could hear Gracie's distinctive screech of annoyance telling everyone that not enough attention was being paid to her needs.

Quickening his steps, he burst through the open door to see all of his friends except Max and Sunny. No one noticed him at first and that gave him a few moments to assess their states of mind. He guessed that theirs had gotten a big boost just by being able to see and speak to each other because his did. To get their attention, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. And just like when he called family meetings to order, they shut up. He looked from one face to the other with a mock glare. Rubbing his hands together, he grinned. "Please tell me we're not having wild duck soup again."

As if that were the signal, they all rushed to his side, drawing him into hugs and handshakes. Waverly and Clover got on either side of him and he hugged them close feeling like their uncle or big brother. After shaking hands with Lukas and Ruby, he was finally able to get to Gracie for a quick cuddle. He'd just handed her a bottle when he felt eyes on him aside from the hidden cameras.

Slowly, he turned and found Pip standing a few feet away, both hands in her pockets, head tilted to the side and a smile of greeting on her face. It may have been his imagination, but it seemed like his heartbeat sped up as soon as their eyes locked. She started toward him and he met her halfway. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be able to take her in his arms and carry her and Gracie away from all this crap, but he couldn't so he settled for, "How you been?"

"Not bad considerin' they won't let us leave."

"It won't be much longer." Returning to Gracie before she could start fussing again, Doyle held a chair for Pip then seated himself across from her. "Where will you go when they do let us out?"

The kitchen staff came around with dinner. When they were gone again, she shrugged. "Not sure. We've all been granted temporary Irish citizenship which will be transferred to the country we ultimately decide to settle in."

Doyle busied himself with buttering a dinner roll, casting the occasional glance at Pip. In an offhand tone, he asked, "Ever thought about visiting the U.S.?"

"A time or two. Just need a reason." She blushed and looked away as if she were embarrassed by the veiled hint that he ask her.

"I can think of at least two good ones." But before he could complete his invitation, General Sanchez breezed in with her 2IC following like a trained lap dog, making a beeline straight for Doyle's table. Doyle got to his feet standing at parade rest.

"Could I have a word with you in private, Sergeant?"

He knew without looking that his people were watching and listening. "Anything you have to say can be said in front of my friends, ma'am."

She peered at him over the top of her glasses. "I'm here to apologize to you and your people regarding the treatment you've endured since your arrival. It's standard protocol to quarantine anyone who's been in the prohibited areas and you spent quite a bit of time at ground zero. To tell the truth, when you showed up on our doorstep, you caused quite a stir because we thought you were dead. You're the only member of the Delta Force contingent posted to London to survive."

"Ma'am?"

"You have no idea what's been happening these last few weeks, have you, Sergeant?"

Doyle wanted to shift his feet, look away from Sanchez's intense perusal, but that wouldn't be protocol. "Some of it, ma'am. Though we didn't get the word until a few days before we set sail."

"The loss of life is unfathomable." Sanchez shook her head sadly. "General Stone and I met in Basic and we've been friends ever since. I stood up for him at his wedding."

"Sorry for your loss, General."

"We all lost someone we knew or served with, Sergeant. But yours is the greatest. You lost your entire unit." There was nothing to say to that so Doyle stayed silent. Just waited her out. "In the morning, your people will be moved into temporary housing where you'll stay until everyone makes a decision about where they'll live going forward."

Gracie had hold of her rattle and was banging on the high chair tray. "Ma'am, what about Gracie? Her adoption wasn't exactly by the books. And even if she had family, I've no idea what her mother's last name was or where they might live."

One side of Sanchez's mouth went up. "All been taken care of, Sergeant. You're a hero in these parts, and a lot of others as well."

"I'm _not_ a hero, ma'am." Nodding at the people he'd come to know well enough to call friends, he added, "_They're_ the heroes. They survived when the odds were against them. Without them, I would've died in London with the rest of my unit."

"Humble too. Your blood is going to save us all. Your family's blood too." Doyle wasn't at all surprised that his parents and brothers had been brought into this mess. "That spells hero in my book. You're also not the only one. According to Dr. Price, at least ten percent of the population has the same genetic variant. Now that they know what to look for, they'll probably find more than enough people to keep the human race from being wiped out by this virus. And the idea Dr. Price and his assistant came up with for creating and dispersing the vaccine will probably get them a Nobel Prize. Now if you don't mind, I have a conference call with a five-star in fifteen." She nodded at Doyle, Pip then to the rest of the room, turned on her heel and left.

The next few days were spent in long and extremely tedious meetings where Doyle told his story over and over and over again. It had taken him two days to complete the written report and each member of the committee held a copy in their hands. Still, they asked questions. At the end of the day, he was almost too tired to attend to Gracie, but somehow found the strength to do just that.

The one thing he hadn't gotten back to was the conversation with Pip. She knew him well enough to know that he'd go to her when he was ready to pick up where they left off, and today was that day.

He deliberately sought her out, finally locating her in the common area watching television with a group of about fifteen, Waverly and Clover sitting with Alfie and Billy. A momentary flare of protectiveness came over him, extinguished when he remembered that it wasn't his job to look after the virtue of a pair of teenage girls. He turned to go, then came back. _The hell with it!_

Skirting the edge of the group, he tapped both young men on the shoulders using two fingers to point at his eyes then at them, telling him that he was watching and they better be careful. They looked sheepish then made more space between the girls and themselves.

At the door, he scanned the crowd, but Pip had slipped out while he was busy. Swearing under his breath, Doyle went to knock on her door, but there was no answer. Resigned, he returned to his room to relieve Ione who had offered to sit with Gracie after dinner.

Peeking into the crib, he saw she was asleep on her side, a soft blanket tucked over her. He brushed the back of one finger down her silky soft cheek and left just as quietly. In his room, he stripped out of his uniform and took a quick shower. He'd just gotten into sleep pants and a T-shirt when he heard tap-tap-tap on the door.

The lights were out in his room, all but the one next to the bed leaving most of the room in darkness so that Pip was silhouetted by the relative brightness from the hall.

"Hope I'm not intruding on your time with Gracie," she said as he invited her in.

"Sleeping. With any luck, she'll stay that way for the rest of the night. What's up?" Why he asked when he wanted to talk to her, Doyle didn't know.

She shrugged and tilted her head back to look him in the eye. "I was just wonderin'…" Her voice trailed off and she smiled in that way he found so appealing, and he knew why she was here. For the same reason he'd been looking for her.

Their eyes locked and Doyle felt himself being pulled in her direction, toward her unique combination of strength and vulnerability. When he was close enough, he reached out a hand and she put hers into it, both holding tight. He led her over to the bed urging her to sit next to him. Pressing one hand into the mattress, he leaned toward her. One of her hands gripped the front of his shirt as he closed the gap between them and kissed her again. Something he'd been wanting since their abortive try over a week ago.

Pip moaned a protest that turned into a tiny gasp when he separated their mouths so he could nuzzle her ear. In a voice husky with yearning, he whispered, "Say my name. Please."

"Ryan…" She shifted around to provide him better access, his hand coming up to brush the hair from her ear so he could nibble on it.

"No. Nigel. _Say_ it." He tried not to be demanding, but he wanted to hear how his despised first name sounded in her voice.

He could hear and feel her smile. "Kiss me again…Nigel."

Kissing his way across her cheek, he stopped just long enough to say, "I love how my name sounds on your lips."

"Good, because it _tasted_ good on my lips."

His grin matched hers and he quickly moved to take possession of her mouth again. "Yes, it does."

And though he hadn't intended for the night to end like this, they were swept up in a sea of emotion, drowning in each other and not wanting to be saved. Pip pushed him onto his back, lifting her leg up and over so that she was straddling his hips, slowly sinking down until she lay on top of him.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rolled until she was beneath him moving them up to the pillows so their legs didn't hang off the end of the bed. Her strong and capable hands worked their way up under his T-shirt and kept going until he had to release her in order to take it off. He returned the favor, and his mind shut down as if a switch had been flipped, leaving behind only sensation and awareness. Of each other and themselves as they melded and merged until he could tell where he stopped and Pip began.

~~O~~

"Sergeant Doyle? You have visitors in the lobby." The soldier, himself a Sergeant, intruded on the snack Pip was sharing with Doyle, Gracie, Lucy, Jasper, Danny, Gordon, Collin and Oscar.

With a puzzled frown, Doyle handed Gracie to Lucy, excused himself and went out after the man demanding to know who wanted to see him. A short time later, they heard voices raised in excitement. Curious, Pip followed the sound down the hall with the others, stopping in the doorway to watch Doyle being hugged by a crying woman while four men looked on. The resemblance was unmistakable. They were his parents and brothers.

She was happy for him, even a little envious that he still had a family to go home to while she had nothing and no one. She didn't even have a country to call her own. Their night together had been amazing for her. He said it was the same for him, but now, in the light of day and faced with reality, would he regret the words said in the heat of passion?

Abruptly, he pulled out of his mother's embrace, rushing over to collect Gracie. And just as he'd predicted, his family stared slack-jawed at the revelation that their youngest son was not only alive, but a father as well. With a smile that was happy and sad at the same time, Pip turned away from the scene to go back to her room.

~~O~~

"…and I've got something to show you." Doyle wasn't at all surprised that his friends had followed him from the dining room. In fact, he was glad they did. He swept Gracie into his arms making her giggle. "Mom, Dad, guys, this is Gracie."

His mother, true to form, swooned over the adorable baby girl. "She's is just precious, Ryan."

"Gracie, say hi to Gramma, Grampa, Uncle Alistair, Uncle Cyril and Uncle Rupert. You'll see your aunts and cousins soon."

Alistair, the oldest, asked the question on all their minds. "Ry, whose baby is she?"

As though it should be obvious, Doyle said, "Mine."

"_Yours?_" The word exploded out of his father. "Maybe you should start at the beginning, son."

Greatly amused by their reactions, he chuckled. "It's a long story. I'll tell it to you later."

Glancing over Doyle's shoulder, Rupert nodded at Lucy. "That the mother?"

"No." Waving the group over, Doyle noticed that Pip hung back. Ever since they spent the night in each other's arms, she'd been quiet, so unlike herself and he'd planned on talking to her about it very soon. Like now. "These are my friends."

He introduced them one at a time leaving Pip for last, taking her hand and drawing her close to his side. "Pip, these are my parents Michael and Elizabeth Doyle, and my brothers Rupert, Cyril and Alistair. Everyone, this is Phoebe uh…" With dismay, Doyle realized he didn't know Pip's last name. Thankfully, she provided it.

"Logan. Nigel's told me so much about you."

His mother opened her mouth then closed it again when Pip called her son by his given name and he didn't cringe. The older women then gave Pip a quick onceover before saying. "Nice to meet you, Phoebe. Ryan, dear…"

Handing Gracie to his dad, he slipped an arm around Pip's shoulder. "She's my wife."

Doyle and Pip laughed when all five of his family said with equal expressions of shock, "WIFE?!"

Looking down into her eyes shining bright with unshed tears, he smiled, "Or she will be, as soon as we can make it legal."

His family stayed for dinner to meet the rest of the group then he reluctantly sent them off to their hotel when Gracie started falling asleep. The little girl had basked in the attention of her new family. So much so that she fought sleep as long as she could, then just like that, she was out for the count. They whispered their good-byes with a promise to be back in the morning, Doyle waving from the door as a First Lieutenant escorted them to a vehicle waiting at the curb.

Draped over his shoulder, Gracie turned her head, cooing in her sleep. In their room, he gently laid her in the bed and pulled the blanket over her before tiptoeing out, leaving the door ajar so he could hear her during the night. Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled it from the waistband of his uniform pants, shucked it and tossed it in the general direction of the basket in the corner. Sitting on the foot of the bed, he removed his boots and socks then stood again to take off the rest of his clothes. All but the boots joined the shirt in or near the laundry basket. Padding into the bathroom, he stood under the water thinking about his family and how they'd taken to both of the girls in his life.

At some point, he didn't know when, Pip had left the noisy group. He supposed she'd had more than enough of family togetherness and had to get away, and he didn't blame her. The Doyle family took some getting used to. And that wasn't even all of them. Add in his brother's wives and kids, his aunts and uncles…

Or maybe that wasn't it. Maybe it was the marriage proposal. He really could've picked a better time, but his mother always told him "When it's right, it's right. No use fightin' it." For once he'd listened to his heart instead of his head and was glad he did.

Shutting the water off, Doyle rubbed his face and head with the towel, swiped it over his chest and stomach then flipped it around to dry his back, ignoring the wetness on his arms and legs. He wrapped the damp material around his waist, flipped the light out and returned to the bedroom stopping short when he saw that his formerly perfectly made bed had grown an enticing lump.

A familiar voice came out of the darkness. "Yes, Nigel, I'll marry you."

The light flicked on, shining over Pip's features and illuminating her bare shoulders. Clutching the sheet to her chest, she raised up on one elbow, giving him a come-and-get-me smile. Her right hand reached across to lift the sheet in invitation. He yanked the corner of the towel and let it fall to the floor then dived into the bed with the woman he would be spending the rest of his life with.

**What the Future Holds**

It took five months for Max and his team at the CDC to synthesize the cure. By then, most of Europe had been lost, but Italy, Portugal, and a few pockets in the Czech Republic and parts of Germany had been spared. Max and Sunny, as the first husband and wife team, did, indeed, win the Nobel Prize for medicine.

Doyle and Pip married, formally adopted Gracie, and he was given time off to bond with his new family. Three years later, they welcomed their second child, son Kieran, into the world.

The Doyle family, all of them, sponsored Waverly and Clover and stood proudly by when they took their oath as citizens of the United States, and again when the girls went off to college several years later.

Some of the people he'd gotten to know during their quest to return to civilization stayed in touch, and others drifted away. But such is the natural evolution of life, love and friendships. And while he was sad to see them go, Doyle was just as glad that God, fate, the universe, whatever, had given them all one more chance to get it right.

**The End**

"_Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain."_

~ Vivian Greene ~


End file.
